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SERMONS 


BY  THE  LATE 


REV.  J.  S.  BUCKMINSTER. 


WITH 

A  MEMOIR 

OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER. 


BOSTON  : 

Ml  IN  TED  BY  JOHN  ELIOT,  NO.  5,  COURT  STREET* 

1814. 


DISTRICT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  TO  WIT  : 

District  Clerk's  Office. 

BE  it  remembered,  that  on  the  fifteenth  day  of  February,  A.  D.  1814,  and  in  the  thirty 
righth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  TVilliarn  Wells  of  the  said  Dis- 
trict has  deposited  in  this  Office  the  title  of  a  Book,  the  Right  whereof  he  claims  as  Proprietor,  in  the 
words  following,  to  wit—"  Sermons  by  the  late  Rev.  J.  S.  Buckminster.  With  a  memoir  of  his  life 
and  character." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  intitled,  "  An  Act  for  the  Encourage- 
ment of  Learning,  by  securing  the  Copies  of  Maps.  Charts  and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors 
of  such  Copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned  ;"  and  also  to  an  Act  intitled,"  An  Act  supple- 
mentary to  an  Act,  intitled,  An  Act  for  the  Encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing  the  Copies  of 
Maps,  Charts  and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors  of  such  Copies  during  the  times  therein  men- 
tioned ;  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  Ar  is  of  Designing,  Engraving  and  Etching  Histori- 
cal, and  other  Prints." 

WM.  S.  SHAW, 
Clerk  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  collection  of  this  volume  of  posthumous 
discourses  was  undertaken  in  compliance  with  the 
general  wishes  of  those,  who  had  the  privilege  of 
hearing  the  preaching  of  Mr.  Buckminster,  and  parti- 
cularly of  the  society  in  Brattle  Square.  About  sixty 
sermons  were  first  selected,  from  the  whole  number 
found  among  his  papers,  by  two  distinguished  mem- 
bers of  his  parish.  From  among  this  number,  those, 
which  compose  the  present  volume,  were  taken  and 
prepared  for  the  press  by  two  of  his  brethren  in  the 
ministry.  In  performing  the  difficult  and  delicate 
task  of  revision,  every  other  liberty  has  been  very 
sparingly  used,  except  that  of  omitting  such  pas- 
sages, as  appeared  not  to  have  received  the  usual 
degree  of  the  author's  care  and  attention.  The  only 
general  principle  of  selection,  which  could  be  adopt- 
ed, was,  to  take  those  sermons,  which,  with  regard  to 
their  literary  execution,  were  found  to  be  in  a  state 
most  fitted  for  publication.  Many  discourses,  there- 
fore, have  been  necessarily  neglected,  containing 
passages  not  inferiour  to  the  best  in  the  present  vol- 
ume, but  which  appear  not  to  have  been  laboured 
throughout  with  equal  felicity.    One  or  two  have 


IV  ADVERTISEMENT. 

been  admitted,  where  the  author,  in  some  of  his  lead- 
ing ideas,  may  seem  to  have  been  indebted  to  other 
writers.  But  his  thoughts,  where  these  coincidences 
exist,  appear  always  to  have  passed  through  and 
taken  an  original  colouring  from  his  own  mind ;  and 
he  has  adopted  nothing,  which  he  has  not  embellish- 
ed and  improved.  The  sermons  alluded  to  are  those  on 
faith,  which  bear  some  resemblance  to  the  discourses 
of  Cappe  on  the  same  subject.  Of  the  sermon  on 
the  character  of  our  Saviour,  also,  the  general  argu- 
ment has  been  often  stated  by  different  writers,  par- 
ticularly by  Mr.  Belsham  in  his  chapter  on  the  in- 
ternal evidences  of  Christianity. 


* 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Memoir  of  Mr.  Buckminster,  ix 


SERMON  L 
The  fitness  of  the  time  of  the  introduction 
of  the  gospel ;  and  the  necessity  of  a  mi- 
raculous interposition  to  account  for  its 
success. 

Gal.  iv.  4.    But  when  the  fulness  of  time  was  come, 

God  sent  forth  his  Son.       .  1—21 

SERMON  II. 
The   argument  for   Christianity  from  the 

character  of  our  Saviour. 
John  vii.  46.    Never  man  spake  like  this  man.     .  22—41 

SERMON  III. 
The  advantages  of  sickness. 
Psalm  cxix.  71.    It  is  good  for  me,  that  I  have  been 

afflicted  .....  42—61 

SERMON  IV. 
The  excuses  of  the  irreligious. 
Luke  xiv.  1 8.    And  they  all  with  one  consent  began 

to  make  excuse.       .  .  .       .  62 — 76 

SERMON  V. 
The  love  of  fame. 
J ohn  xii.  43.    For  they  loved  the  praise  of  men  more 

than  the  praise  of  God.  .  .  .  77 — 96 

SERMON  VI. 
The  Epistle  to  Philemon. 
Epistle  to  Philemon.         •         .         .         •    97 — 114 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON  VII. 
Frugality. 

John  vi.  12.    Gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain, 

that  nothing  be  lost.  .  .  .  115—130 

SERMON  Vm. 

The  objects  of  faith. 

Hebrews  xi.  1.    Now  faith  is  the  substance  of  things 

hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen.       .       131 — 143 

SERMON  IX. 
The  reasonableness  of  faith. 
Same  text.  .....       144 — 155 

SERMON  X. 
The  importance  of  faith. 
Same  text.       .....  156 — 165 

SERMON  XI. 

The  history  and  character  of  Paul ;  and  the 
causes  of  obscurity  in  his  writings. 

2  Peter  iii.  15,  16.  Even  as  our  beloved  brother 
Paul,  also,  according  to  the  wisdom  given  unto  him, 
hath  written  unto  you,  as  also  in  all  his  epistles, 
speaking  in  them  of  these  things,  in  which  are  some 
things  hard  to  be  understood,  which  they  that  are 
unlearned  and  unstable  wrest,  as  they  do  also  the 
other  scriptures,  unto  their  own  destruction.       .      166 — 189 

SERMON  XII. 
Habit. 

Jeremiah  xiii.  23.  Can  the  Ethiopian  change  his 
skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots  ?  Then  may  ye  also 
do  good,  that  are  accustomed  to  do  evil.  .        1 90 — 209 

SERMON  Xm. 
Confession  of  Christ. 
Matthew  x.  32.    Whosoever  shall  confess  me  before 
men,  him  will  I  also  confess  before  my  father,  which 
is  in  heaven.  .....  210 — 224 

SERMON  XIV. 
Obstacles  to  the  efficacy  of  preaching. 
Luke  viii.  18,    Take  heed  how  ye  hear,         .       ,  225 — 240 


CONTENTS. 


vii 


Page. 

SERMON  XV. 
The  Introduction  of  the  affections  into  re- 
ligion. 

Philippians  i.  9.    And  this  I  pray,  that  your  love  may 

abound  yet  more  and  more.       .  .  .       241 — 262 

SERMON  XVI. 

Self-government. 
Proverbs  xxv.  28.    He  that  hath  no  rule  over  his  owa 
spirit  is  like  a  city,  that  is  broken  down,  and  without 
walls   263—280 

SERMON  XVII. 
Self-knowledge. 
1  Corinthians  xi.  31.    If  we  would  judge  ourselves, 

we  should  not  be  judged.  .  .  •      281 — 292 

SERMON  XVn^ 

Salvation  by  grace. 
Ephesians  ii.  5.    By  grace  ye  are  saved.        .  293 — 311 

SERMON  XIX. 

The  Pharisee  and  the  Publican. 

Luke  xviii.  10.    Two  men  went  up  into  the  temple  to 

pray;  the  one  a  Pharisee,  and  the  other  a  Publican.  312 — 324 

SERMON  XX. 
The  character  of  Peter. 
Matthew  xxvi.  35.  Peter  said  unto  him,  though  I 
should  die  with  thee,  yet  will  I  not  deny  thee.  Luke 
xxii.  61,  62.  And  the  Lord  turned,  and  looked  up- 
on Peter.  And  Peter  remembered  the  word  of  the 
Lord,  how  he  had  said  unto  him,  Before  the  cock 
crow,  thou  shalt  deny  me  thrice.  And  Peter  went 
out,  and  wept  bitterly.       .  .  .  325 — 34S 

SERMON  XXI. 
The  religious  education  of  children. 
Ephesians  vi.  4.    Fathers,  provoke  not  your  children 
to  wrath  ;  but  bring  them  up  in  the  nurture  and  ad- 
monition of  the  Lord.         .         .  .         349 — 365 


viii 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

SERMON  XXn. 

The  circumstances,  in  the  situation  of  our 
country,  favourable  to  moral  and  reli- 
gious eminence. 

Deuteronomy  xxxiii.  29.    Happy  art  thou,  O  Israel, 

who  is  like  unto  thee  ?  366 — 382 

(Preached  on  occasion  of  the  State  Thanksgiving,  Nor.  1807.) 

SERMON  XXin. 

The  influence  of  the  gospel  on  the  charac- 
ter and  condition  of  the  female  sex. 

Philtppians  iv.  3.  I  entreat  thee, — help  those  women, 
which  laboured  with  me  in  the  gospel, — whose  names 
are  in  the  book  of  life.  .  .  .         383 — 41© 

(Preached  before  the  Boston  Female  Asylum,  Sept.  1810.) 

SERMON  XXIV. 
The  connexion   and   mutual   influence  of 
knowledge,  piety,  and  charity. 

2  Peter  i.  5 — -7.  Add  to  your  faith,  virtue  ;  and  to 
virtue,  knowledge  ;  and  to  knowledge,  temperance  ; 
and  to  temperance,  patience ;  and  to  patience,  god- 
liness ;  and  to  godliness,  brotherly  kindness  ;  and  to 
brotherly  kindness,  charity.      .  .  .  411—430 


MEMOIR 

OF  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  THE 

REV.  JOSEPH  STEVENS  BUCKMINSTEK. 


MEMOIR. 


THE  sermons,  which  compose  the  following  vol- 
ume, are  selected  from  a  number  of  discourses  written 
without  any  expectation  of  publication  in  the  regular 
course  of  the  official  duties  of  the  author.  The  objec- 
tions to  offering  to  the  world  writings  left  under  such 
circumstances  are  obvious,  and  certainly  not  inconside- 
rable. The  disadvantages  of  all  posthumous  works, 
which  have  not  received  the  author's  last  corrections, 
are  exceedingly  great ;  but  especially  of  those  of  a 
pulpit  orator.  A  very  different  degree  of  attention 
will  usually  be  given  by  every  writer  to  compositions 
intended  only  for  the  ear  of  a  miscellaneous  audience, 
and  those,  which  are  to  meet  the  eye  of  a  cool  and,  per- 
haps, fastidious  reader.  It  must,  also,  often  be  incident 
to  one,  who  is  tasked  to  be  ready  to  speak  at  a  given 
hour,  that  amidst  the  glow  and  hurry  of  composition, 
sentiments  will  be  struck  out,  which  are  not  sufficient- 
ly weighed,  or  not  carefully  limited,  or  not  perfectly 
consistent  with  each  other,  or  which,  perhaps,  are  un- 
consciously supplied  to  him  by  memory,  instead  of  in- 
vention.   It  is  obvious,  too,  that  many  great  improve- 


Xii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

ments,  and  a  certain  finish  and  perfection  will  be  sug- 
gested by  a  last  revision,  which  the  author  himself — 
while  his  discernment  is  quickened  by  the  anticipation 
of  the  publick  tribunal,  before  which  he  is  about  to 
stand — alone  can  give.  These,  and  other  similar  con- 
siderations, seem  to  establish  the  propriety  of  a  general 
rule,  which  shall  forbid  the  publication  of  posthumous 
writings,  except  where  the  author  has  directed  it,  or, 
at  least,  appears  to  have,  in  some  degree,  prepared 
for  it. 

Powerful,  however,  as  these   considerations  un- 
doubtedly are,  they  have  yielded,  in  the  present  case, 
to  a  conviction  of  the  very  extraordinary  merit  of  these 
discourses.    The  mind  of  Mr.  Buckminster  was  so 
singularly  and  habitually  accurate,  that,  though  these 
sermons  have  a  claim  to  all  the  indulgence,  which  is 
due  to  posthumous  writings,  there  are  few,  which 
have  so  little  need  of  it.    It  seemed,  therefore,  to 
his  friends,  that  it  would  be  unjust  to  him,  to  his  coun- 
try, which  is  interested  in  his  fame,  and  even  not  con- 
sistent with  what  we  may  believe  to  be  the  purposes 
of  Providence,  in  committing  to  him  such  powers  for 
the  support  of  religion  and  virtue,  that  all  their  benefi- 
cial effects  should  be  confined  to  the  small  circle  of  his 
immediate  hearers.    It  surely  would  not  be  right,  that 
a  mind  so  richly  and  splendidly  endowed  should  be 
suffered  to  pass  away,  after  shedding  a  momentary 
warmth  and  lustre  around  it,  without  leaving  any  per- 
manent proof  of  its  salutary  and  benignant  influence, 


0 

MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XlU 

Of  the  propriety  of  this  decision  the  publick  have, 
in  this  volume,  the  means  of  judging. — As  it  was  be- 
lieved, that  few  will  read  these  sermons  without  a  de- 
sire of  knowing  something  more  of  the  author,  the  of- 
fice of  giving  some  particulars  of  his  life  and  charac 
ter  has  been  committed  to  one  of  his  friends,  who  may 
advance  that  claim  to  the  confidence  of  his  readers, 
which  is  given  by  an  unreserved  and  affectionate  in- 
tercourse with  Mr.  Buckminster  of  many  years. 

Joseph  Stevens  Buckminster  was  born  May  &6, 1784, 
at  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire.  His  ancestors,  both  by 
his  fathers  and  mother's  side,  for  several  generations, 
were  clergymen.  His  paternal  grandfather  was  the 
author  of  several  tracts  of  some  celebrity  in  their  day, 
in  defence  of  a  mitigated  form  of  Calvinism.  Dr.  Ste- 
vens of  Kittery,  his  maternal  grandfather,  is  yet  re- 
membered, as  a  very  learned,  judicious  and  pious  di- 
vine ;  in  short — to  use  the  language  of  the  very  high 
authority*  from  whom  I  received  this  account — "  he 
was  a  man,  of  whom  one  may  say  every  thing,  that  is 
good."  His  father,  the  late  Dr.  Buckminster,  was  for 
a  long  time  a  minister  of  Portsmouth,  and  was  esteemed 
one  of  the  most  eminent  clergymen  of  that  state.  His 
mother,  I  find,  all  accounts  unite  in  representing,  as  a 
woman  of  a  very  elegant  and  cultivated  mind ;  and 
though  she  died,  while  her  son  was  yet  in  early 
youth,  it  was  not  till  she  had  made  many  of  those  im- 
pressions on  his  mind  and  heart,  which  most  deeply 
and  permanently  affect  the  character. 

*  The  late  Chief  Justice  Parsons. 


Xiv  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

j  >  .  .• 

Mr.  Buckminster  was  a  striking  example  of  the  ear- 
ly development  of  talents.    There  is  some  diversity 
in  this  respect  in  the  accounts,  which  are  given  as  of 
eminent  persons.    As  far,  however,  as  the  intellectual 
differences  of  men  arise  from  differences  in  their  original 
constitution,  from  greater  sensibility,  greater  capacity 
of  exertion,  or  superiour  susceptibility  of  external  im- 
pressions, these  differences,  we  should  think,  would  be 
more  or  less  clearly  displayed  in  every  stage  of  the 
mind's  progress.  When,  therefore,  nothing  remarkable 
is  remembered  of  the  youth  of  a  man  of  genius,  the 
cause  may  probably  be  traced,  either  to  a  want  of  at- 
tention, or  a  want  of  philosophical  discrimination  in 
the  observers.    The  instances  of  the  early  display  of  * 
the  powers  of  Mr.  Buckminster  were  very  extraordi- 
nary.   There  was  no  period,  after  his  earliest  infancy, 
when  he  did  not  impress  on  all  who  saw  him,  stran- 
gers, as  well  as  friends,  a  conviction  of  the  certainty  of 
his  future  eminence.  It  seemed  as  if  the  early  opening 
of  a  mind  so  fruitful  and  so  fair  was  intended  to  pre- 
pare, and  in  some  degree  to  compensate  us  for  its  sud- 
den and  premature  loss.    An  account  of  some  of  the 
peculiarities  of  his  youth  will  be  found  in  the  following 
extract  of  a  letter.    It  was  given  me,  I  presume,  with 
the  expectation,  that  the  facts  it  contains  would  be  inter- 
woven with  my  own  narration  ;  but,  as  it  must  evident  - 
ly  be  injured  by  any  alteration,  I  shall  venture  to  give 
it  in  the  form,  in  which  it  was  received. 

"  From  the  birth  of  my  brother,  our  parents  intended 
him  for  the  ministry,  and  took  the  greatest  delight  in 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XV 

cultivating;  a  mind,  whose  early  promise  gave  them  rea- 
son to  hope,  he  was  to  he  a  blessing  to  the  world.  I  do  not 
know  how  soon  he  was  able  to  read  ;  but  at  four  years 
old  he  began  to  study  the  Latin  grammar,  and  had  so 
great  a  desire  to  learn  the  Greek  also,  that  my  father,  to 
please  him,  taught  him  to  read  a  chapter  in  the  Greek 
Testament  by  pronouncing  to  him  the  words.    As  ear- 
ly as  this  he  discovered  that  love  for  books  and  ardent 
thirst  for  knowledge,  wiiich  he  possessed  through  life. 
He  was  seldom  willing,  while  a  child,  to  leave  his 
books  for  any  amusement,  and  my  father  Avas  so  much 
afraid,  that  close  application  would  injure  his  health, 
that  he  used  to  reward  him  for  playing  with  boys  of 
his  own  age,  and  would  often  go  with  him  to  persuade 
him,  by  example,  to  take  part  in  their  sports.    I  have 
no  recollection,  that,  when  we  were  children,  he  ever 
did  any  thing  that  was  wrong.    He  had  always  the 
same  open,  candid  disposition,  that  marked  his  man- 
hood \  nor  can  I  recollect  any  time,  when  I  did  not 
feel  the  same  confidence,  that  whatever  he  did  was 
right ;  the  same  affection  and  respect,  which  made  the 
last  years,  I  spent  with  him,  so  happy.    From  the  time 
he  was  five,  till  he  was  seven  years  old,  it  was  his 
practice,  to  call  the  domesticks  together  on  Sabbath 
morning,  and  read  to  them  one  of  my  father's  manu- 
script sermons,  repeat  the  Lord's  prayer,  and  sing  a 
hymn  5  and  he  performed  the  service  with  such  solem- 
nity, that  he  was  always  heard  with  attention.  I 
have  heard  my  dear  father  say,  he  never  knew  him  tell 
an  untruth,  or  prevaricate  in  the  least.   Indeed,  there 


\ 


XVi  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

was  always  something  about  him,  which  gained  the 
love  of  all,  w  ho  knew  him ;  and  never  any  thing, 
which  made  them  fear,  their  expectations  of  his  future 
excellence  would  be  disappointed." 

"  We  lost  our  excellent  mother,  when  he  was  six 
years  old.  But  he  had  received  an  impression  of  her 
character,  which  time  could  not  efface  ;  and  I  believe 
through  life  he  was  anxious  to  be,  in  every  respect, 
what  he  knew  she  would  have  wished  him  to  be.  Af- 
ter he  went  to  Exeter,  he  passed  but  little  time  at 
home.  The  year  before  he  entered  college,  his  eyes 
were  so  weak,  that  my  father  thought  it  necessary  to 
take  his  books  from  him.  It  was  a  deprivation  he 
could  not  bear  to  submit  to  ;  and  he  found  means  to  se- 
crete some  old  folios  in  the  garret,  which  he  would 
spend  some  time  each  day  in  reading.  This  is  the 
only  act  of  disobedience,  of  which  I  ever  knew  him 
guilty.  I  perfectly  remember  the  great  delight,  he 
used  to  take  in  listening  to  the  conversation  of  men  of 
literature  and  science,  and  in  works  of  taste  and  im- 
agination. But  the  progress  of  his  mind,  and  the  de- 
velopment of  his  powers,  I  was  too  young  to  ob- 
serve or  take  an  interest  in. — Should  this  letter  con- 
tain any  such  information,  as  you  wish,  I  shall  not  re- 
gret the  painful  exertion,  it  has  cost  me  to  write  it." 

At  the  age  of  twelve,  he  was  ready  for  college,  but, 
fearing  his  extreme  youth,  his  father  detained  him  for 
some  time  at  Exeter — where  he  had  received  his  pre- 
paratory education  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Benjamin 
Abbot — and  he  was  entered,  as  a  student  at  Cambridge; 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XVII 

in  1797?  nearly  a  year  in  advance.  It  may  seem  strange 
to  those,  who  take  their  ideas  of  an  university  from  the 
establishments  of  England  and  Germany,  that  one  so 
young  should  be  fully  prepared  for  admission  into  the 
oldest  of  our  seminaries,  where  the  preliminary  knowl- 
edge demanded  is  greater,  than  at  any  other  in  our 
country.  But  it  is  the  genius  of  all  our  institutions — 
arising,  perhaps,  in  a  great  degree,  from  the  thinness  of 
our  population,  which  creates  a  premature  demand  for 
every  species  of  talents — to  bring  forward  our  young 
men  very  early  into  life  ;  and,  though  such  proficiency, 
as  we  find  in  Mr.  Buckminster  is,  no  doubt,  rare,  it  is 
no  uncommon  thing  to  find  them  closing  their  profes- 
sional studies  at  an  age,  when  Europeans  are  just  en- 
tering their  universities.  This  fact  opens  a  field  for 
many  interesting  speculations  on  the  state  and  pros- 
pects of  society,  as  well  as  of  letters,  among  us  ;  and 
will,  perhaps,  hereafter  be  found  to  furnish  a  solution 
of  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  that  national  char- 
acter, which — if  our  political  institutions  should  pos- 
sess any  permanency — will,  we  may  suppose,  be  ere 
long  completely  formed  and  developed. 

On  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Buckminster  at  college,  the 
same  decided  designation  for  peculiar  excellence, 
which  had  so  strongly  impressed  those,  who  knew 
him  in  his  early  youth,  was  at  once  seen  and  acknowl- 
edged. His  career  at  this  institution  was  equally 
honourable  to  his  moral  principles  and  to  his  mental 
powers.  Amidst  the  temptations  inseparable  from  the 
place,  he  gave  an  example  of  the  possible  connexion 


XViii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  ftUCKMINSTER. 

of  the  most  splendid  genius  with  the  most  regular  and 
persevering  industry,  of  a  generous  independence  of 
character  Avith  a  perfect  respect  for  the  governours 
and  the  laws  of  college,  and  of  a  keen  relish  for  in- 
nocent enjoyment  with  a  fixed  dread  of  every  ap- 
pearance of  vice.  It  may  be  worth  while  to  record, 
that  he  never  incurred  any  college  censure,  and  was 
not  even  fined,  till  the  last  term  of  his  senior  year,  and 
then  only  for  some  trifling  negligence.  It  may  be 
said  of  him,  as  has  been  remarked  of  a  kindred  ge- 
nius, that  "  he  did  not  need  the  smart  of  guilt  to  make 
him  virtuous,  nor  the  regret  of  folly  to  make  him 
wise."* 

In  the  summer  of  1800  he  received  the  honours  of 
the  university.  There  are  many,  who  recollect  the 
oration,  which  he  then  delivered  on  "  the  literary 
characters  of  different  nations,"  and  the  impression 
produced  by  the  sight  of  his  small  and  youthful  fig- 
ure, contrasted  with  the  maturity  and  extent  of  his 
knowledge,  the  correctness,  as  well  as  brilliancy  of 
his  imagination,  and  the  propriety  and  grace  of  his 
elocution. 

To  the  study  of  theology  he  was  inclined  from 
the  period,  when  he  received  his  earliest  religious 
impressions ;  and  he  devoted  himself  to  it  for  more 
than  four  years  after  leaving  college.  His  time 
was  spent,  partly  in  the  family  of  his  relative,  Theo- 
dore Lyman,  Esq.  at  Waltham  and  Boston,  and 
partly  at  Exeter,  as  an  assistant  in  the  academy. 

*  President  Kirkland's  Life  of  Mr.  Ames. 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XIX 

The  portion  of  this  time,  which  was  given  to  the  in- 
struction of  youth,  he  always  remembered  with  plea- 
sure, as  leading  him  to  a  review  of  his  early  classical 
studies,  and  giving  him  that  accuracy  in  elementary 
principles,  in  which  our  preparatory  schools  have 
been,  heretofore,  chiefly  deficient. 
The  number  of  works  in  theology,  metaphysieks, 
morals  and  general  literature,  which  he  read  during 
the  period,  of  which  we  speak,  would  appear  scarce- 
ly credible  to  one,  who  did  not  know  the  rapidity, 
with  which  he  looked  through  a  book,  and  the  al- 
most intuitive  sagacity,  with  which  he  seized  and 
retained  all  that  was  valuable  in  its  contents.  That 
what  he  read  was  thoroughly  digested,  was  apparent 
from  the  accuracy — so  often  observed  and  admired 
by  his  friends — with  which  he  would  discriminate 
the  peculiar  merits  of  different  writers.  1  find,  from 
some  fragments  of  a  journal  of  his  studies,  that, 
where  he  thought  a  book  of  particular  importance, 
he  was  accustomed  to  make  a  copious  analysis  of  its 
contents.  It  was,  also,  his  habit  to  make  references, 
at  the  end  of  a  volume,  to  the  pages,  where  any  inter- 
esting passages  were  found.  Particulars  like  these 
are,  it  is  true,  unimportant  in  themselves ;  but  they 
may,  perhaps,  gratify,  in  some  degree,  that  natural 
and  not  useless  curiosity,  which  we  feel  with  regard 
to  all  the  circumstances  of  a  distinguished  man's 
preparation  for  his  future  eminence. 

The  process  of  study  and  of  thought,  through 
which  he  passed  in  forming  his  theological  opinions, 


XX  MEMOIR  OF  MR.   BUCK  MINSTER. 

cannot  be  too  much  praised.  It  is  strange,  that  a 
principle  so  natural,  and  so  constantly  observed  in 
all  other  sciences — that  of  beginning  with  what  is 
simple  and  clear,  and  gradually  proceeding  to  what 
is  doubtful  and  dark — should  have  been  so  often  re- 
versed in  the  study  of  theology.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, overlooked  by  Mr.  Buckminster.  He  avoided, 
as  much  as  possible,  all  discussion  of  the  controvert- 
ed doctrines  of  systematick  divinity,  till  he  had  given 
himself  a  thorough  initiation  in  the  evidences  of  re- 
ligion, natural  and  revealed, — examined  the  nature 
and  degree  of  the  inspiration  of  the  sacred  writings, 
in  order  to  determine  what  laws  of  interpretation  are 
to  be  applied  to  them, — taken  a  general  survey  of 
the  questions  connected  with  the  criticism  of  the 
Bible, — and  sanctified  all  his  investigations  by  the 
habitual  study  of  the  spirit  and  maxims  of  practical 
religion.  Having  by  these  inquiries,  together  with 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  original  languages, 
prepared  himself  for  the  interpretation  of  the  more 
difficult  and  obscure  parts  of  the  scriptures,  he  com- 
menced the  study  of  them  with  the  aid  derived  from 
a  comparison  of  the  opinions  of  the  best  commenta- 
tors of  different  sects.  The  writers  on  dogmatick 
theology  he  now  permitted  himself  to  consult ;  and 
he  has  often  told  me,  with  what  eager  curiosity,  and 
f  yen  trembling  interest,  he  read  Taylor  and  Edwards 
am  original  sin,  and  pushed  his  researches  into  those 
Jjigh  speculations,  where  so  much  caution  is  neces- 
sary to  prevent  the  mind  from  becoming  enslaved 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXi 

to  a  system,  and  shut  forever  against  the  light  of 
truth. 

Having,  in  this  manner,  gone  over  an  uncommonly 
wide  and  extensive  field  of  preparatory  studies,  in 
October,  1804,  he  yielded  to  a  request  to  preach  to 
the  society  in  Brattle  Street,  Boston.  I  cannot  at- 
tempt to  describe  the  delight  and  wonder,  with  which 
his  first  sermons  were  listened  to  by  all  classes  of 
hearers.  The  most  refined  and  the  least  cultivated 
equally  hung  upon  his  lips.  The  attention  of  the 
thoughtless  was  fixed.  The  gaiety  of  youth  was 
composed  to  seriousness.  The  mature,  the  aged,  the 
most  vigorous  and  enlarged  minds  were  at  once 
charmed,  instructed  and  improved.  After  preaching 
for  a  few  weeks,  he  received  an  invitation  to  become 
the  minister  of  this  society,  and  was  ordained  Janu- 
ary 30,  1805.  The  fatigue  and  agitation  of  spirits, 
wrhich  he  experienced  on  this  occasion,  produced  a 
severe  fit  of  illness,  which  interrupted  his  labours 
till  the  following  March,  when  he  recommenced  them 
with  the  sermon  on  the  advantages  of  sickness,  which 
makes  part  of  the  present  collection. 

The  situation,  in  which  he  was  now  placed,  intro- 
duced him  to  many  new  and  most  important  duties. 
The  task  of  a  christian  teacher  can  never  be  a  light 
one  to  any  conscientious  man.  There  are,  however, 
circumstances,  in  some  respects,  peculiar  to  the  situ- 
ation of  a  clergyman  in  Boston,  which — while  they 
are  a  source  of  constant  interest  and  delight  to  him 
— serve  to  make  his  duties  uncommonly  great.    It  is 

t 


XXii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

the  general  habit  of  the  place  for  the  individuals  of 
«ach  society  to  make  their  minister  a  part  almost  of 
their  families,  a  sharer  of  their  joys  and  sorrows, 
one  who  has  always  access  to  them,  and  is  always 
welcomed  with  distinguished  confidence  and  affec- 
tion.   There  are  many  obvious  advantages  arising 
from  this  unreserved  intimacy.     Religion  is  more 
easily  made  to  mingle,  as  it  ought,  with  the  common 
business  and  pleasures  of  life,  when  the  idea  of  its 
ministers  is  not  associated  merely  with  images  of 
awe  and  terrour,  of  gloom  and  death.  Both  admoni- 
tion and  consolation  come  home  to  the  heart  with  re- 
doubled effect,  when  they  are  heard  from  the  lips  of 
one,  who  is  not  only  respected  from  the  sanctity  of 
his  office,  but  who  is  personally  beloved  as  a  friend. 
This  intimate  connexion  with  his  people — although, 
to  a  man  of  any  sensibility,  a  source  of  some  of  the 
most  exquisite  gratifications  of  the  human  heart — 
makes  a  great  addition  to  his  toils.    It  makes  a  deep 
inroad  on  the  time,  he  would  give  to  study ;  and  al- 
most compels  him  to  redeem  it  from  the  hours,  which 
ought  to  be  given  to  exercise  or  repose.    By  the  va- 
riety and  painful  interests,  also,  of  the  scenes  and 
occupations,  to  which  it  calls  him,  the  mind  is  often 
agitated  and  worn  down ;  while  the  reflection,  which 
it  is  impossible  always  to  exclude,  of  the  insufficient 
ability,  with  which  his  duties  are  performed,  and  the 
inadequate  returns,  he  can  make  for  the  friendship 
and  confidence,  he  receives,  must  often  come  over 
and  oppress  his  spirits. 

i 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXUl 

The  effect  of  these  labours  on  the  delicate  frame 
of  Mr.  Buckminster  could  not  fail  to  be  soon  visible. 
A  disorder,  which  had  made  its  appearance  some 
years  before,  was  sensibly  increased  during  the  year 
1805.  It  was  one  of  the  most  tremendous  maladies, 
which  God  permits  to  afflict  the  human  frame ;  and  to 
which  it  has  often  been  found,  that  minds  of  the 
most  exquisite  structure  are  peculiarly  exposed.  The 
manner,  in  which  this  visitation  was  endured  by  Mr. 
Buckminster,  I  can  never  think  of,  but  with  increas- 
ing admiration  of  the  fortitude,  and  reverence  of  the 
piety,  which  sustained  him.  Those — who  saw  his 
habitual  gaiety  of  disposition,  and  observed  the  live- 
ly interest,  which  he  took  in  his  friends,  and  all  the 
usual  occupations  of  life,  and  especially,  who  wit- 
nessed all  his  cheerfulness  and  activity,  returning  al- 
most immediately  after  the  severest  of  these  attacks — 
were  disposed  to  think,  that  he  could  not  be  sensible 
of  the  terrifiek  nature  of  his  disorder,  or  ever  look 
forward  with  any  distinct  anticipation  to  its  threaten- 
ed consequences.  It  was  seldom,  that  even  his  nearest 
friends  heard  from  him  any  allusion  to  his  calamity : 
and,  perhaps,  there  was  only  one  of  them,  to  whom  all 
the  thoughts  of  his  soul,  on  this  subject,  were  confid* 
ed.  How  little  they  knew  of  him,  who  imagined,  he 
was  insensible  to  any  of  its  appalling  consequences, 
will  appear  by  the  following  extraet  from  his  private 
journal,  which  I  can  scarcely  transcribe  without 
tears. 


XXiv  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

October  31,  1805.  "  Another  fit  of  epilepsy.  I 
pray  God,  that  I  may  be  prepared,  not  so  much  for 
death,  as  for  the  loss  of  health,  and,  perhaps,  of  men- 
tal faculties.  The  repetition*  of  these  fits  must,  at 
length,  reduce  me  to  idiocy.  Can  I  resign  myself 
to  the  loss  of  memory,  and  of  that  knowledge,  I  may 
have  vainly  prided  myself  upon  ?  O  God  !  enable 
me  to  bear  this  thought,  and  make  it  familiar  to  my 
mind,  that  by  thy  grace  I  may  be  willing  to  endure 
life,  as  long  as  Thou  pleasest  to  lengthen  it.  It  is 
not  enough  to  be  willing  to  leave  the  world,  when 
God  pleases  ;  we  should  be  willing,  even  to  live  use- 
less in  it,  if  He,  in  his  holy  providence,  should  send 
such  a  calamity  upon  us.  I  think,  I  perceive  my 
memory  fails  me.  O  God,  save  me  from  that  hour !" 

It  is  proper  to  remark,  that  this  suspicion  of  the 
failure  of  his  memory  was,  I  believe,  wholly  with- 
out foundation.  His  fears  for  the  safety  of  a  faculty — 
which,  in  him,  was  always  so  eminently  perfect,  that 
his  friends  scarcely  ever  thought  of  appealing  from 
it  on  any  question  of  fact — were  awakened,  probably, 
by  that  loss  of  facility  of  retention,  which  every  phi- 
losophick  mind  trained  to  the  habit  of  classifying 
its  ideas  is  accustomed  to  experience  with  regard  to 
those  insulated  facts,  which  cannot  be  easily  connect- 
ed  with  its  general  knowledge. 

In  the  spring  of  1806,  the  increase  of  his  disorder 
induced  him  to  think  of  a  voyage  to  Europe.  His 
society,  with  a  generous  preference  of  his  advantage 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXV 

to  their  own  convenience  and  pleasure,  readily  con- 
sented to  his  departure;  and  he  sailed  for  Liverpool 
early  in  May.  He  was  received  in  London  at  the 
house  of  his  relative  and  countryman,  Samuel  Wil- 
liams, Esq.  who,  with  his  brother,  an  early  friend 
of  Mr.  Buckminster,  made  his  residence  delightful 
by  every  possible  attention.  In  August — having 
been  joined  by  a  friend  from  Boston,  whose  office  it 
is  to  collect  this  imperfect  memorial  of  his  worth — 
he  embarked  for  the  Continent,  and  landed  at  Har- 
lingen,  on  the  Zuyder  Zee.  He  passed  rapidly 
through  the  chief  cities  of  Holland,  ascended  the 
Rhine,  and,  partly  on  foot,  made  the  tour  of  Swit- 
zerland. At  Geneva  he  wrote,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
a  description  of  the  fall  of  the  mountain  of  Ross- 
berg,  or  Ruff  berg,  which  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  interesting  of  the  minor  productions  of 
his  pen.  I  subjoin  it  in  a  note,  as  a  proof  of  how  he 
could  feel,  and  how  he  could  describe.*  From  Swit- 
zerland he  directed  his  course  to  Paris,  where  his  stay, 
which  he  had  intended  should  be  short,  w  as  protracted 
to  five  months  by  the  embarrassments  to  the  intercourse 
with  England,  produced  by  the  first  operations  of  the 
Berlin  decree.  His  residence  there,  however,  could 
not  be  tedious  amidst  the  literary  resources  of  the 
French  capital,  and  the  inexhaustible  treasures  of  the 
tine  arts,  with  which  the  plunder  of  Europe  has  en- 
riched it.  Much  of  his  time,  also,  both  here  and 
in  London,  was  employed  in  collecting  a  library,  for 

•      •  *  Note  A. 


XX>i  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKM1NSTER. 

which  his  remarkable  knowledge  of  literary  history 
eminently  qualified  him ;  and,  before  lie  left  Europe, 
he  formed  and  sent  home  a  collection  of  near  three 
thousand  volumes  of  the  choicest  writers  in  theology 
and  general  literature.  Some  of  the  motives,  which 
induced  him  to  expend  so  large  a  part  of  a  small  for- 
tune in  the  purchase  of  books ?  will  be  seen  in  the  fol- 
lowing extract  of  a  letter  to  his  father — accompanied 
with  another  very  touching  reference  to  the  calamity, 
which  still  followed  him. 

"  London,  May  5,  1807. 
"  If  the  malady,  with  which  it  has  pleased  God  to 
afflict  me,  should  not  entirely  disappear,  I  hope  I  shall 
be  able,  by  his  grace,  so  to  discipline  my  mind,  as  to 
prepare  it  for  any  consequences  of  such  a  disorder  : 
consequences,  which  I  dread  to  anticipate,  but  which 
I  think  I  could  bear  without  guilty  complaint.  I 
sometimes  fancy,  my  memory  has  already  suffered  ; 
but,  perhaps,  it  is  all  fancy.  You  will,  perhaps,  say, 
that  it  is  no  very  strong  proof,  that  I  have  any  serious 
apprehensions  on  this  score,  that  I  am  continually 
purchasing  and  sending  out  books,  and  saying  to  my 
mind,  thou  hast  goods  laid  up  for  many  years.  True 
— but,  though  I  may  be  cut  off  by  the  judgment  of 
God  from  the  use  of  these  luxuries,  they  will  be  a 
treasure  to  those,  who  may  succeed  me,  like  the 
hoards  of  a  miser,  scattered  after  his  death.  I  consi- 
der, that,  by  every  book  I  send  out,  I  do  something  for 
my  dear  country,  which  the  love  of  money  seems  to 
be  depressing  almost  into  unlettered  barbarism. v 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXVU 

In  February  he  returned  to  London,  passed  the 
following  spring  and  summer  in  a  tour  through  Eng- 
land, Scotland  and  Wales,  embarked  at  Liverpool 
in  August,  and  reached  home  in  September.  Some 
of  the  general  impressions,  which  he  received  from 
his  visit  to  Europe,  maybe  collected  from  a  Thanks- 
giving sermon,  which  he  preached  soon  after  his  re- 
turn, and  which  is  inserted  in  this  volume.  His  dis- 
order— though  the  mild  climate  of  the  continent 
seemed  to  mitigate  it,  and  even  for  a  while  to  flatter 
him  with  the  hope  of  complete  recovery — remained 
radically  the  same.  His  constitution,  however,  prob- 
ably gained  some  additional  vigour  by  his  travels, 
and  was  thus  enabled  longer  to  endure  the  attacks  of 
his  malady. 

Ho  returned  now  to  all  the  duties  of  his  office  with 
redoubled  activity.  He  was  welcomed  by  his  society 
with  unabated  affection  and  regard.  But  no  praise 
ever  seduced  him  to  intermit  his  diligence.  His 
books  gave  him  an  inexhaustible  source  of  interest 
and  delight ;  and,  as  he  was  unavoidably  exposed  to 
frequent  interruptions  during  the  day,  his  studies 
were  protracted  till  midnight  with  fatal  constancy. 
In  the  inquiries  peculiar  to  his  profession  he  took  in- 
creasing pleasure  ;  and  he  has  more  than  once  told  me, 
that  he  was  fast  losing  his  taste  for  all  other  studies. 
In  order  that  this  all-absorbing  interest  in  theology 
should  not  wholly  destroy  his  relish  for  elegant  let- 
ters— which  he  justly  considered  as  a  valuable  aux- 
iliary to  his  ministerial  influence — he  occasionally 


XXviii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMIXSTER. 

lent  his  aid,  as  lie  had  done  previously  to  his  voyage, 
to  the  Monthly  Anthology,  and  other  literary  periodi- 
cal publications  of  the  day.  I  refer  in  a  note  to  several 
pieces  in  these  works,  of  which  he  was  the  author.* 
His  only  habitual  relaxation  was  musick,  of  which, 
from  his  youth,  he  was  passionately  fond,  and  in 
which  his  taste  was,  I  believe,  very  exquisite.  This, 
of  course,  led  him  to  take  an  interest  in  the  sacred 
musick  of  his  church  ;  and,  to  make  this  part  of  wor- 
ship more  perfect,  he  collected  and  published,  in 
1808,  a  number  of  hymns,  as  a  supplement  to  those 
appended  by  Dr.  Colman  to  Tate  and  Brady's 
psalms.  The  collection  was  formed  on  the  general 
principle,  that,  as  singing  is  an  act  of  worship,  in 
which  all  christians  are  to  join,  it  is  proper,  that  those 
sentiments,  which  are  peculiar  to  any  of  the  different 
sects,  should  be  excluded,  so  that  no  tender  con- 
science may  be  prevented  from  sharing  in  this  part  of 
social  devotion.  Reasonable,  however,  and  evangel- 
ical,  as  is  this  principle,  it  did  not  prevent  his  little 
book — -though  designed  only  for  his  own  society,  and 
not  regularly  published — from  being  attacked  with  a 
great  deal  of  asperity.  He  was  accused,  in  a  contem- 
porary theological  journal,  of  mutilating  the  hymns  of 
Watts  and  others,  in  order  to  cover  a  design  of  sup- 
pressing the  great  doctrines  of  the  gospel  by  the  au- 
thority of  their  names.  The  charge  was  sufficiently 
absurd;  and  I  would  not,  willingly,  revive  a  forgotten 
controversy.  But,  as  I  find  a  reference  to  this  affair  in 
his  private  journal,  and  as  the  charge  affects  his  per- 

*  Hgtc  b. 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXix 

sonal  integrity  and  may  hereafter  meet  the  eye  of 
those,  who  have  not  the  means  of  knowing  how  un- 
founded it  was,  I  feel  obliged  to  insert  the  following 
extract.  The  observations,  which  introduce  it,  are 
very  striking  illustrations  of  his  humility,  and  his 
habitual  and  elevated  piety. 

"Januarys,  1809.  A  new  year  has  begun.  In 
looking  back  upon  the  events  of  my  life  the  last  year, 
I  see  little  or  no  improvement.  Sure  I  am,  that  my 
stock  of  theological  knowledge  has  not  been  increas- 
ed, though  I  have  some  reason  to  hope,  that  my  ser- 
mons, for  the  last  year,  have  not  been  inferiour  to  any 
preceding.  In  the  trials,  to  which  God  has  exposed 
me,  I  endeavour  to  discern  the  design  of  his  provi- 
dence. The  disorder,  to  which  I  am  yet  subjected, 
ought  to  be  to  me  a  perpetual  lesson  of  humility.  I 
have  sometimes  thought,  that,  if  our  powers  and  state 
of  mind,  in  another  world,  depend  at  all  upon  the 
condition  of  the  understanding,  when  we  leave  this, 
I  should  prefer  to  die,  before  my  mind  shall  be  irre- 
coverably debilitated  by  this  disorder.  May  this 
consideration— with  others — keep  me  in  a  state  of 
perpetual  willingness  and  readiness  to  depart.  My 
greatest  trial  this  year  was,  the  attack  upon  my  se- 
lection of  hymns  for  the  use  of  Brattle  Street  church. 
I  cannot  but  think  it  insidious  and  impertinent.  If  I 
have  indulged  any  improper  feelings  towards  the  sup- 
posed author,  I  pray  (rod  to  forgive  me  $  at  least,  I 
trust,  they  do  not  appear  in  my  reply.  As  to  the 
principal  and  most  important  charge  in  the  review, 


XXX 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BCJCKMINSTER. 


that  of  unsignificd  alterations,  I  can  here  put  down-, 
what  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  the  publicly  that  I 

DID  NOT   KNOW  OF  THEM,  TILL  THEY  WERE  POINTED 

out  by  the  reviewer.  I  took  the  hymns,  without 
alteration,  from  Dr.  Kippis's  collection." 

In  the  beginning  of  1809  Mr.  Buckminster  pub- 
lished a  sermon  on  the  death  of  Governour  Sullivan, 
the  first  production  of  his  pen,  to  which  he  gave  his 
name.  In  the  course  of  the  year  he  wrote  the  circu- 
lar address  of  the  Massachusetts  Bible  Society,  a;i 
institution,  in  wrhich  he  took  a  very  lively  interest,  and 
of  which  he  was  corresponding  secretary.  He  also 
published  an  address  "  on  the  dangers  and  duties  of 
men  of  letters,"  pronounced  before  the  society  of 

B.  K.  at  Harvard  College — an  enchanting  speci- 
men of  the  variety  and  elegance  of  his  literature,  and 
of  his  power  and  disposition  to  make  it  auxiliary  to 
the  cause  of  truth  and  virtue.  These,  together  with 
a  sermon  on  the  death  of  Rev.  William  Emerson, 
are  the  only  writings,  which  he  published,  except  the 
fugitive  pieces  in  the  literary  journals,  to  which  I 
have  referred. 

In  1808,  he  engaged,  in  conjunction  with  his  friend, 
Mr.  William  Wells,  and  under  the  patronage  of  the 
university  at  Cambridge,  in  the  publication  of  Gries- 
")aclrs  Greek  Testament,  containing  a  selection  of 
i lie  most  important  various  readings.  This  work 
passed  under  the  most  careful  revision,  in  the  course 
of  which  several  errours  in  the  original  wrere  discov- 
ered and  corrected.     I  believe,  that  this  Amen- 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMIXSTER.  XXXI 

can  edition  may  be  safely  said  not  to  yield  the  palm 
of  accuracy  to  any,  which  has  been  published  in  Eu- 
rope. Mr.  Buckminster  wrote  several  pieces,  in 
which  the  general  merits  of  Griesbach  were  largely 
and  ably  discussed,  the  peculiarities  of  the  minor 
edition  were  pointed  out,  and  the  fidelity  and  accura- 
cy of  this  most  candid  and  learned  critick  w  ere  vin- 
dicated and  explained.*  Proposals  were,  also,  issued  ■ 
for  a  supplementary  volume  to  Griesbach,  to  contain 
an  English  translation  of  the  Prolegomena  to  his 
large  critical  edition,  the  authorities  for  his  variations 
from  the  received  text,  aiid  some  dissertations,  origi- 
nal and  selected,  on  subjects  connected  with  the  crit- 
icism of  the  Bible.  Some  progress  was  made  in  pre- 
paring this  work  by  Mr.  Buckminster  and  one  of  his 
friends  ;  but,  as  he  did  not  give  his  name  to  the  pro- 
posals, they  did  not  receive  sufficient  encouragement 
to  induce  him  to  persevere.  In  1810  he  formed  the 
plan  of  publishing  all  the  best  modern  versions  of  the 
prophetical  books  of  the  Old  Testament.  He  pro- 
posed to  use  the  version  of  Bishop  Lowth  for  Isaiah, 
with  the  various  renderings  of  Dodson  and  Stock  in 
the  margin,  where  they  differ  materially  from  Lowth. 
The  major  prophets  were  to  be  completed  by  Blaney's 
version  of  Jeremiah  and  Lamentations,  Newrcome7s 
of  Ezekiel,  and  Wintle's  of  Daniel,  with  Blaney's 
of  the  LXX  weeks.  Newcomers  translation  of  the 
minor  prophets  was  to  have  followed,  with  the  most 
important  variations  from  Horsley's  Hosea.  Ben- 

*  Note  G. 


XXXli  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTEIl. 


join's  Jonah,  and  Blancy's  Zechariah.  After  this 
he  hoped  to  have  been  able  to  give  an  additional 
volume,  containing  the  most  important  notes  and  pre- 
liminary dissertations  to  the  several  books.  The 
whole  design,  however,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  say, 
failed  for  want  of  a  sufficient  taste  for  these  studies 
among  our  countrymen. 

The  remaining  years  of  the  short  life  of  Mr.  Buck- 
minster  were  marked  by  few  incidents.  The  peace- 
ful duties  of  a  clergyman  admit  of  but  little  variety, 
and  possess  no  general  interest.  He  was  an  active 
member  of  almost  all  our  literary  and  charitable  so- 
cieties. He  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  every  plan 
for  the  improvement  of  the  intellectual,  moral  and  re- 
ligious character  of  the  community ;  and  scarcely  one 
was  attempted,  in  which  his  advice  and  cooperation 
were  not  sought  and  afforded.  In  1811  he  received 
a  proof  of  the  estimation,  in  which  his  knowledge 
in  his  favourite  walk  of  study  was  held,  by  his  ap- 
pointment, as  the  first  lecturer  on  biblical  criticism  at 
Cambridge,  on  the  foundation  established  by  the  late 
Hon.  Samuel  Dexter.  This  appointment  was  uni- 
versally thought  to  be  an  honour  most  justly  due  to 
his  preeminent  attainments  in  this  science.  All  his 
studies  had  contributed  to  fit  him  for  this  office  ;  but, 
to  increase  his  qualifications,  he  immediately  began 
the  study  of  the  German  language,  and  engaged  in 
a  minute  review  of  his  former  reading.  He  laid  out 
a  very  extensive  plan  for  his  lectures — of  which, 
however,  some  fragments  only  were  found  among  hi* 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXxiii 

papers — and  expected  to  have  been  prepared  to  de- 
liver them  early  in  1813. 

But  the  all-wise  Disposer  had  otherwise  determin- 
ed. In  the  midst  of  all  his  usefulness  and  activity, 
when  he  was  never  more  interesting  to  his  friends, 
and  their  hopes  from  him  were  never  more  highly 
raised,  they  were  all  at  once  extinguished.  A  sud- 
den and  violent  access  of  his  old  disorder  instantly 
made  a  total  and  irrecoverable  wreck  of  his  intellect, 
and,  after  lingering  for  a  few  days — during  Which 
he  had  not  even  a  momentary  interval  of  reason — he 
sunk  under  its  force,  Tuesday,  June  9,  1812,  having 
just  completed  his  twenty  eighth  year. 

It  remains,  that  I  should  now  attempt  to  embody 
some  of  my  recollections  of  his  person  and  manners, 
his  intellectual  habits,  acquisitions  and  powers,  his 
religious  character  and  views,  and  his  ministerial  en- 
dowments. 

In  his  person,  Mr.  Buckminster  scarcely  reached 
the  middle  size.  His  limbs  were  well  proportioned 
and  regular.  His  head  was  formed  after  the  finest 
models  of  the  antique  ;  and  his  features  presented  an 
almost  faultless  combination  of  dignity,  sweetness 
and  intelligence.  The  portrait  prefixed  to  this  volume, 
engraved  by  Edwin  from  one  of  the  happiest  efforts 
of  the  pencil  of  Steuart,  will  give  a  general  idea  of 
his  face  ;  though  some  of  the  most  interesting  traits, 
which  are  yet  remembered  with  fond  regret  by  his 
friends,  it  is,  perhaps,  beyond  the  reach  of  art  to 
preserve. 

s 


xxxiv 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMIXSTER. 


There  were  very  few  peculiarities  in  the  manners 
of  Mr.  Buckminster,  to  distinguish  him  from  the  gene- 
rality of  men  of  refined  minds  and  familiar  inter- 
course with  the  best  society.  He  was  affable  and 
unconstrained,  and  very  accessible  to  the  claims  of 
his  friends  and  the  curiosity  of  strangers.  There 
was  a  remarkable  simplicity  and  directness,  if  I  may 
so  speak,  an  absence  of  all  disguise  in  his  mode  of 
uttering  his  thoughts  ;  and  it  might  sometimes  seem, 
that  his  first  impressions  were  made  known  with  a 
freedom,  which  more  prudence  or  more  selfishness 
w  ould  have  taught  him  to  repress.  He  had  that  un- 
failing mark  of  a  good  disposition,  an  easiness  to  be 
pleased.  His  conversation,  in  large  companies,  was 
not  remarkably  copious,  but  always  very  correct  and 
elegant.  In  the  private  society  of  his  friends  he  de- 
lighted in  the  exchange  of  minds- — particularly  on  sub- 
jects connected  with  education,  classical  learning,  biog- 
raphy, the  theory  and  laws  of  morals,  the  nature  and 
influence  of  religion,  the  prospects  of  mankind,  &e. — - 
and  was  very  communicative  of  his  great  variety  of 
knowledge  on  all  these  subjects.  Though  he  was  emi- 
nently and  habitually  cheerful,  there  were  occasional 
inequalities  in  his  manner  ;  and  there  were  moments, 
when  there  appeared  in  him  a  sort  of  reserve,  and 
want  of  interest  in  those  about  him,  which  made  his 
character  misunderstood  by  several,  who,  if  they  had 
known  him  more,  would  have  found  him  formed  to 
engage  all  their  esteem  and  love.    These  occasional 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXXV 

departures  from  his  habitual  manners  were,  I  am 
confident,  to  be  traced  to  his  bodily  indisposition. 
Many  of  his  friends,  who  have  entered  his  room,  when 
he  was  suffering  under  this  effect  of  his  disease,  well 
remember,  that,  after  a  few  moments  of  conversation, 
he  would  shake  off  the  oppression  of  his  languor,  his 
wonted  smile  would  play  over  his  features,  that  pe- 
culiar animation,  which  usually  lighted  up  his  coun- 
tenance, would  again  break  out,  and  he  would  enter 
into  any  subject  proposed,  with  the  warmest  and 
liveliest  interest. 

Mr.  Buekminster  possessed  all  the  characteristick 
features  of  a  mind  of  the  highest  order.  It  was  not 
marked  by  any  of  those  eccentricities,  which  some- 
times distinguish  and  disgrace  men  of  brilliant  genius, 
and  which,  I  suppose,  are  usually  to  be  ascribed,  ei- 
ther to  the  deficiency,  or  the  undue  predominance  of 
some  one  of  the  mental  powers.  His  mind  was  a  per- 
fectly well  balanced  one.  There  was  a  soberness,  a 
rationality,  a  practicableness  in  all  his  views,  which 
proved,  that  judgment — in  a  degree  very  rarely  found 
united  with  such  splendid  gifts  of  fancy — presided 
over  his  other  faculties  and  regulated  their  use.  The 
most  shining  attribute  of  his  mind  was,  undoubtedly, 
philosophick  imagination.  It  was  this,  which  gave  him 
such  unrivalled  powers  of  delineation  and  illustra- 
tion, and  enabled  him  to  impart  novelty  and  lustre  to 
every  thing  he  touched.  His  conception  of  any  sub- 
ject, which  engaged  his  mind,  was  strong  and  orig- 
inal ;  and  he  could  hold  it  in  view,  till  it  spread  be- 


XXXVI  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

fore  him  in  all  its  parts,  and  unfolded  all  its  connex- 
ions. When  he  was  preparing  to  communicate  his 
thoughts,  a  thousand  associated  ideas  sprang  up  and 
gathered  round  the  subject ;  and  imagination  stood 
ready  to  furnish  him  with  innumerable  delightful  re- 
semblances, which  would  often  carry  with  them  the 
force  of  arguments  from  analogy,  as  well  as  shed 
light  and  beauty  on  his  conceptions.  Yet  he  did  not 
abuse  this  exuberant  faculty  by  too  prodigal  a  display 
of  it.  The  sermons  of  this  volume — while  they  will 
prove,  that  I  have  not  said  too  much  of  the  richness 
and  fertility  of  this  power — will  show,  also,  the  taste 
and  judgment;  with  which  he  always  controlled  its  ex- 
ercise. 

In  his  intellectual  habits  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
remarked  any  singularity.  He  was  a  real  student. 
He  had  that  first  requisite  of  all  true  and  durable 
greatness,  the  habit  of  patient  and  long  continued  at- 
tention. He  possessed  the  genuine  <pi\™*n«,,  the  love 
of  labour  for  itself.  He  could  delight  in  the  dryest 
and  most  minute  researches,  as  well  as  in  the  lofty  and 
ethereal  visions  of  fancy.  Like  the  majority  of  men 
of  learning,  he  loved  to  read  more  than  to  think,  and 
to  think  more  than  to  write.  He  composed  with  rapid- 
ity, but  with  intellectual  toil ;  and  his  best  efforts  were 
not  made  without  a  high  degree  of  mental  excitement. 

His  acquisitions  wrere,  for  his  years,  preeminently 
great.  Besides  the  studies  peculiar  to  theology,  his 
reading  was  very  extensive  in  metaphysicks,  morals, 
biography,  and  particularly  literary  history  ;  and 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  EUCKMINSTER.  XXXVil 

whatever  he  had  onee  read,  his  memory  made  forever 
his  own.  If  I  were  required  to  state,  in  one  word,  in 
what  branch  of  knowledge  his  excellence  was  most 
conspicuous,  I  should  say  it  was,  philology — under- 
standing by  this  word,  the  knowledge  of  language 
as  an  instrument  of  thought,  in  all  its  propriety  and 
force,  as  well  as  all  its  shades  and  varieties  of 
meaning,  in  its  general  theory,  as  well  as  in  its 
modifications  in  different  countries,  and  finally  in  all 
its  grace  and  beauty,  as  it  is  fitted  to  invest  truth  in 
its  richest  and  most  attractive  dress. 

But  it  was  the  light,  which  philology  pours  on 
the  records  of  our  faith  and  hope,  which  gave  it  its 
chief  value  to  the  mind  of  Mr.  Buckminster.  It  was 
the  study  of  the  scriptures  in  their  original  languages, 
which  most  powerfully  seized  and  occupied  his  at- 
tention, and  engaged  him  in  a  course  of  inquiries, 
which  he  never  thought  himself  at  liberty  long  to  de- 
sert. His  attainments  in  this  department  of  knowl- 
edge would  not  have  been  thought  lightly  of,  w  hen 
compared  with  those  of  European  criticks.  He  was 
always  of  opinion,  that  the  principles  of  Christianity, 
in  their  original  purity  and  simplicity,  were  to  be  pre- 
served, where  they  are  already  held,  and  recalled, 
where  they  are  lost  or  obscured,  only  by  the  study 
of  the  Bible,  according  to  the  maxims  of  a  sound,  and 
cautious,  and  enlightened  criticism.  One  of  his 
strongest  passions  was,  the  desire  to  diffuse  a  love  of 
biblical  studies  ;  and  the  impulse  among  us,  which  has 
been  lately  given  to  inquiries  on  these  subjects,  is,  in 


XXXViii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTEIt. 

no  slight  degree,  to  be  attributed  to  liis  exertions  and 
example. 

It  cannot  but  be  interesting  to  know,  in  what  views 
of  religion  the  inquiries  of  a  mind  so  active,  so  candid, 
so  enlightened,  and  so  pious  as  that  of  Mr.  Buckmin- 
ster  resulted.  It  will  be  apparent  from  the  following 
sermons,  that  the  foundation  of  all  his  opinions  was 
laid  in  the  belief,  that  the  great  design  of  the  gospel 
is,  to  produce  a  moral  influence  on  the  human  charac- 
ter— to  raise  it  from  the  degradation  and  ruin  of  sin, 
and  fit  it  for  the  pure  and  intellectual  happiness  of 
heaven.  From  this  simple  principle — so  obvious,  so 
undeniable,  and  yet  so  often  forgotten — all  his  views 
of  Christianity  took  their  character.  It  necessarily 
follows  from  it,  that  all  the  doctrines  and  views  of  the 
gospel — as  far,  at  least,  as  they  regard  man — are  to 
be  considered  in  the  light  of  motives  and  means  ;  of 
no  intrinsick  value,  except  as  they  are  auxiliary  to  this 
great  end.  Christian  faith,  therefore,  derives  none 
of  its  efficacy  from  the  number  merely,  much  less  the 
mysticism  and  obscurity  of  the  articles  we  believe. 
Its  genuineness  and  its  worth  are  to  be  determined  by 
the  energy  and  permanence  of  our  practical  persua- 
sion of  those  truths,  which  supply  the  strongest  and 
most  affecting  motives  and  encouragements  to  repent* 
ance  and  a  holy  life.  These,  in  the  view  of  Mr. 
Buckminster,  were,  the  paternal  character  of  God — 
his  constant  presence  and  overruling  Providence — the 
connexion  of  his  favour  always  and  only  with  moral 
goodness — the  pardon  of  sin  to  the  penitent  through 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  XXXix 

Jesus  Christ,  his  mission  to  enlighten  and  redeem 
mankind — the  confirmation  of  our  immortality  hy  his 
resurrection  from  the  dead — the  impartation  of  all 
needed  spiritual  aids  to  assist  our  sincere  exertions — 
the  just  and  impartial  retributions  of  eternity  to  all 
the  human  race,  according  to  their  deeds.  These, 
surely,  are  views,  which,  every  christian  will  acknowl- 
edge, enter  largely  into  the  grounds  and  support  of 
his  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity.  They  are,  beyond 
all  question,  those,  on  which  the  writers  on  vital  re- 
ligion— who  are  most  universally  acknowledged  to 
have  caught  the  true  spirit  of  the  gospel— chiefly  in- 
sist. And  who  will  say,  that  any  man,  whose  under- 
standing acknowledges,  and  whose  heart  is  imbued 
with  these  truths,  will  want  any  essential  characteris- 
tick  of  a  true  disciple  of  his  Saviour  ? 

It  was  the  great  object  of  the  ministerial  labours  of 
Mr.  Buckminister  to  produce,  under  the  influence  of 
these  views,  the  practical  religion  of  the  heart  and 
life,  as  it  is  explained  in  the  teaching  and  illustrated 
in  the  example  of  our  Saviour.  How  near  this  pur- 
pose was  to  his  heart,  is  very  strikingly  displayed  in 
the  closing  passage  of  his  sermon  on  the  mutual  in- 
fluence of  knowledge,  piety  and  charity.  "  It  is 
the  constant  object  of  my  wishes  and  prayers,  and 
may  it  be  the  effect  of  my  preaching,  under  the  bles- 
sing of  God,  to  contribute  to  the  formation  of  that  no- 
blest of  characters,  the  christian,  whose  love,  as  the 
apostle  describes  it,  abounds  more  and  more  in 
knowledge  and  in  all  judgment,  who  approves  the 


\\  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

things,  which  are  excellent,  and  who  remains  sincere 
and  without  offence,  till  the  day  of  Christ,  being  filled 
with  tue  fruits  of  righteousness,  which  are  by  Jesus 
Christ,  unto  the  glory  and  praise  of  God."  These 
are  the  words,  with  which  he  closed  his  earthly  la- 
bours in  the  desk  of  instruction.*  His  people  bear 
him  witness  now — and,  I  trust,  will  hereafter  bear 
him  w  itness  before  the  throne  of  God — that  all  his 
preaching  justified  this  declaration,  and  all  his  life 
harmonized  with  this  prayer. 

It  is  impossible,  that  a  man,  who  entertained  such 
Tiews  of  the  nature  of  religion,  should  be  exclusive 
or  intolerant.  Mr.  Buckminster  was  eminently  char- 
itable towards  those,  w  ho  differed  from  him  on  specu^ 
lative  points.  He  felt,  with  all  wide  observers  of  hu- 
man character,  that  great  errours  of  the  understand- 
ing, on  almost  every  subject,  are  consistent  with  up- 
rightness of  heart.  How,  indeed,  can  any  one  fail  to 
acknowledge,  that  this  may  be  so  in  religion,  who 
remembers,  that  even  the  disciples  of  our  Lord  were 
confessedly  full  of  prejudice  and  misapprehension 
before  their  Master's  death  ?  Mr.  Buckminster  could 
extend  his  affection  towards  good  men  of  every  sect 
and  communion.  He  could  acknowledge  in  a  Fene- 
lon,  with  all  his  zeal  for  transubstantiation  and  Papal 
infallibility,  one  of  the  purest  and  most  lovely  ex- 
emplifications of  the  christian  character,  which  the 

*  This  sermon  was  delivered  before  the  society  for  promoting  christian 
f*  knowledge,  piety  and  charity,"  and  afterwards  altered  and  adapted  to  his 
own  people,  and  preached  on  the  Lord's  day  hefore  he  was  seized  with  his  last 

illness. 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  xli 

world  has  seen,  since  the  days  of  St.  John.  He  did 
not,  however,  conceive,  that  any  part  of  his  or  any 
other  man's  goodness  consisted  in,  or  was  necessa- 
rily connected  with  his  errours.  He  was,  therefore, 
a  steady  opposer  of  what  he  believed  to  be  the  cor- 
ruptions of  Christianity — not  only  because  the  gospel 
is  rendered  incredible  by  them  to  so  many  intelli- 
gent men — but  because  they  lessen,  in  the  minds  of 
many  good  persons,  that  joy  and  peace  in  believing, 
Which  the  religion  of  Christ  is  fitted  and  intended  to 
impart. 

Of  what  Mr.  Euckminster  was,  and  of  what  he 
did,  these  sermons  are  now  to  be  the  only  permanent 
memorial.  If  the  effect,  which  some  of  them  produce, 
wrhen  read,  might  be  anticipated  for  their  effect,  when 
delivered,  it  will  not  often  be  surpassed.  The  re- 
mark  of  Quinctilian,  however,  on  the  eloquence  of 
Hortensius,  is,  in  some  degree,  true  of  the  composi- 
tions of  every  fine  speaker.  There  is  a  certain 
charm  thrown  over  his  thoughts  by  his  manner,  while 
speaking,  which,  when  we  read  them,  we  seek  for  in 
vain.*  But,  though  something  of  that  interest  will, 
no  doubt,  be  lost,  which  particular  passages  derived 
from  the  liquid  voice,  the  eloquent  eye,  the  illuminat- 
ed countenance,  the  indescribable  animation,  the  va- 
riety and  frequent  pathos  of  the  manner  of  Mr.  Buck- 
minster,  there  are  still  several  sermons  in  this  col- 
lection, which  will  gain  by  being  read  more  than 

*  Apparet  placuisse  aliquid  eo  dicente,  quod  legentes  non  invenimus,, 
Lib.  IX.  c.  3. 


Xlii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

they  will  lose ;  and  merits  will  be  discovered,  which 
were  overlooked,  or  not  distinctly  seen,  amidst  the 
general  splendour  of  his  eloquence. 

They  will,  perhaps,  be  considered  as,  upon  the 
whole,  the  most  successful  attempt  yet  made  to  unite 
the  peculiar  excellencies  of  the  English  and  French 
pulpits.  The  best  English  sermons  are,  no  doubt, 
very  powerful  performances.  There  are  to  be  found 
in  them  some  of  the  ablest  defences  of  Christianity, 
the  most  just  and  rational  statements  of  its  peculiar 
doctrines,  the  most  complete  delineation  of  the  virtues 
and  vices,  the  most  learned  and  judicious  illustra- 
tions of  the  scriptures,  the  best  and  weightiest  max- 
ims  of  habitual  conduct,  and  the  deepest  and  most  in- 
timate views  of  the  nature  and  spirit  of  devotion* 
They  have  almost  every  merit  as  dissertations  and 
essays  ;  but,  considered  as  addresses  intended  for  an 
actual  audience,  they  certainly  have  many  important 
defects.  They  often  fail  of  making  any  other,  than 
a  very  intellectual  hearer,  feel  his  own  personal  inter- 
est in  the  truths,  they  inculcate.  They  are  wanting  in 
directness  and  closeness  of  application.  They  are 
studiously  unimpassioned,  to  a  degree,  which  makes 
them  often  appear  cold  and  unimpressive.  Some  ex- 
ceptions are  to  be  made  for  the  sermons  of  Taylor 
and  Barrow,  and  several  writers  of  later  years  ;  but 
the  general  character  of  English  pulpit  eloquence, 
since  the  Restoration,  has  been  such  as  we  describe. 
It  has  been  produced,  without  doubt,  in  a  great  de- 
gree, by  a  desire  of  avoiding  those  extravagancies, 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTERo  xliii 

which,  in  the  times  of  the  Commonwealth,  brought 
religion  into  disgraee,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
unbelief  and  libertinism  of  the  age  of  Charles  II. 

It  would  be  opposing  the  decision  of  all  Europe, 
to  deny  the  great  excellencies  of  the  French  sermons. 
They  are,  perhaps,  the  most  finished  compositions  of 
modern  times.  They  abound  in  passages  of  the  most 
splendid  description,  and,  sometimes,  of  the  truest 
pathos.  But  their  eloquence  is  usually  too  artificial, 
too  much  designed  for  mere  stage  effect.  An  exces- 
sive ambition  of  the  higher  attributes  of  eloquence 
leads  them  to  constant  overstatements  of  the  doc- 
trines and  duties  of  the  gospel.  They  have  a  want 
of  truth  and  nature  in  their  representations  of  relig- 
ion and  of  human  life — a  fault,  which  no  other  ex- 
cellencies can  redeem.  The  origin  of  almost  all  the 
corruptions  of  Christianity  may  be  referred  to  this 
tendency  in  men  to  overcharge  their  statements  of  re- 
ligion, in  order  to  make  them  dazzling  and  impres- 
sive. If  we  attend  to  the  arguments,  which  are 
brought  by  the  church  of  Rome  to  defend  what  we 
esteem  its  errours,  we  find  them  chiefly  drawn  from  a 
literal  interpretation  of  the  rhetorical  exaggerations 
contained  in  the  homilies  of  the  early  fathers.  The 
fact,  that  false  eloquence  has  thus  been  the  great  cor- 
rupter of  Christianity,  will  give  a  lesson  of  caution  to 
every  rational  christian  in  the  employment  of  that 
which  is  real ;  and  will  lead,  perhaps,  to  the  general 
conclusion,  that  the  higher  forms  of  it  cannot  be  often 
safely  attempted  in  the  pulpit.    Although,  therefore, 


Xliv  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER* 

no  one,  who  is  not  wholly  insensible  to  what  is  beau- 
tiful and  sublime,  can  read  the  best  French  sermons 
without  perpetual  admiration,  yet,  when  they  are 
considered,  not  as  a  mere  feast  of  taste,  but  as  an 
instrument  for  the  improvement  of  the  hearts  and 
minds  of  men  in  religion,  they  must  be  often  viewed 
with  the  most  serious  disapprobation.  If  we  would 
admire  them  without  reserve,  we  must  regard  them 
merely  as  beautiful  poetry ;  and  read  Bossuet  and 
Corneille,  Massillon  and  Jlacine  too  often  with  very 
similar  emotions. 

That  there  is  nothing  necessarily  irreconcilable  in 
w  hat  is  really  excellent  in  both  these  rival  schools, 
the  following  sermons  will,  I  persuade  myself,  fur- 
nish a  proof.  They  seem  to  be  the  union  of  Truth,  and 
Keason,  and  Eloquence.  Without  saying,  they  are 
faultless,  every  one  will  perceive  in  them  a  strength 
and  originality  of  conception,  a  power  of  delineation, 
a  beauty,  novelty,  and  richness  of  illustration,  which 
proclaim  a  powerful  and  peculiar  mind.  When, 
also,  we  consider  the  seriousness,  the  rationality,  the 
earnestness,  the  warm  glow  of  devotion,  they  every 
where  exhibit,  the  apostolick  freedom  and  intrepidity, 
with  which  sin  and  errour,  however  popular  and  fash- 
ionable, are  denounced  in  them — and  when,  in  ad- 
dition to  all  this,  we  recollect,  that  they  are  sermons, 
not  prepared  for  the  press  by  himself,  but  selected  by 
Ids  friends  from  among  several  hundreds,  all  written 
between  his  twentieth  and  twenty-eighth  year — they 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  Xlv 

will  be  regarded  as  among  the  most  rare  and  admir- 
able efforts,  which  the  pulpit  has  called  forth. 

I  have  not  attempted  a  formal  description  of  the 
qualities  of  Mr.  Buckminster's  heart.  A  life  of  such 
uniform  purity  and  rectitude,  of  such  devotedness  to 
God,  of  such  disinterested  zeal  for  the  good  of  man- 
kind, is  the  surest  pledge  of  its  soundness  and  its 
sensibility.  I  might  speak  of  his  perfect  sincerity, 
his  simplicity,  his  love  of  truth,  his  candour  of  dis- 
position. I  might  remark,  how  little  the  unbounded 
admiration,  he  received,  impaired  any  of  the  essen- 
tial features  of  his  character.  I  might  attempt — but 
I  am  sure  it  would  be  in  vain — to  describe  the  mag- 
ick  influence,  by  which  he  drew  around  him  a  circle 
of  most  devoted  friends,  by  whom  his  memory  is 
embalmed  in  the  fondest  recollections  and  regrets. 
There  are  many,  who  feel  with  me,  that  his  death  was 
the  rupture  of  some  of  the  strongest  ties,  which  the 
human  heart  can  know.  Even  now,  when  time  has 
interposed  to  subdue  all  the  more  powerful  emotions 
of  grief,  there  are  those,  who  delight  to  recall  the 
hours,  we  have  passed  with  him,  and  to  dwell  on 
those  traits,  which  we  loved,  while  living,  and  which 
death  cannot  efface  from  our  memories.  While  wre 
think,  how  important  to  the  interests  of  truth  and 
virtue  were  the  light  of  his  knowledge  and  the 
weight  of  his  influence,  how  many  plans  of  improve- 
ment were  connected  with  his  exertions  and  encour- 
agement— when  we  remember,  that  a  mind  so  rich, 
so  active,  so  original;  so  elevated,  is  no  more  to  im- 


xlvi 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 


part  its  conceptions  to  other  minds,  that  the  voice, 
which  has  warmed  so  many  hearts,  and  guided  so 
many  steps  to  immortality,  is  silent  as  the  grave,  and 
is  no  more  to  be  heard  in  the  church  of  God,  or  the 
aircle  of  friendship,  we  are  oppressed  by  the  magni- 
tude of  the  loss,  and  are  ready  to  number  it  among 
the  darkest  of  the  divine  dispensations.  Yet  it  is  or- 
dered by  better  wisdom  than  our's  ;  and  we  cannot 
but  discern  many  proofs  of  mercy  in  the  time  of  his 
departure.  His  wish  was  granted  not  to  survive  his 
usefulness.  He  disappeared  in  all  the  brightness  of 
his  honours,  without  any  twilight  coming  over  his 
fame.  We  are  spared  the  dreadful  spectacle  of  be- 
holding  such  a  mind  in  ruins.  God  can  raise  up  oth- 
er instruments  to  effect  his  benevolent  purposes—* 
Farewell  then !  We  must  say  of  thee,  felix  non  vitas 
tantum  claritate,  sed  etiam  opportunitate  mortis.* 
May  the  example  of  a  life  like  thine,  devoted  to 
truth,  to  virtue,  and  the  best  interest  of  mankind, 
animate  us  to  follow  thy  career  of  piety  and  benevo- 
lence, that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  we  may  join  thee  it* 
another  world,  where  friendship  will  be  uninterrupt- 
ed, and  virtue  eternal. 


*  Tac.  Agrie. 


MEMOIR  OE  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  xlvti 


NOTES* 


NOTE  A.    PAGE  xxv. 
TO  ARTHUR  M.  WALTER,  ESQ. 

Geneva,  Sept  26th,  1806. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, 

WE  have  at  length  finished  the  tour  of  Switzer- 
land, and  add  two  more  to  the  ten  thousands,  who 
have  seen  and  admired  before  us.  Mr.  ******** 
has  been  my  companion,  ever  since  we  reluctantly 
parted  with  *******  at  Rotterdam  (13th  of  Aug.)  5 
and  as  he  has  a  taste  for  the  picturesque,  and  I  have 
pretty  good  eyes,  we  have  seen  and  enjoyed  as  much, 
as  other  galloping  travellers.  You,  I  know,  are  rath- 
er curious  in  geography ;  and  if  you  are  at  leisure  to 
pore  over  a  large  map  of  Switzerland,  you  will  have 
it  in  your  power  to  trace  your  friend's  route  through 
this  interesting  country.  After  a  satisfactory  jour- 
ney up  the  Rhine,  from  Rotterdam  through  Utrecht^ 
Nimeguen,  Cleves,  Cologne,  Coblentz,  Mayence, 
Worms,  Strasburg,  and  Colmar,  we  entered  Swit- 
zerland at  Rasle  the  5th  of  September.  For  th© 
sake  of  seeing  the  famous  chute  du  Rhin  we  went 
fifty  miles  out  of  our  way  as  far  as  Scbaffhausen, 
passing  through  a  part  of  the  Brisgau,  once  belong 


Xlvili  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

ing  to  the  humbled  house  of  Austria,  but  now  given 
to  the  Prince  of  Baden.  From  Schatfhausen  we 
travelled  to  Zurich,  in  my  estimation  the  most  eligi- 
ble spot  in  Switzerland ;  thence  we  crossed  mount 
Albis  on  our  way  to  Lucerne,  by  a  road  almost  too 
difficult  for  carriages.  From  Lucerne  we  sent  our 
voiture  empty  to  Berne,  while  we  prepared  for  our 
excursion  into  the  mountains.  We  began  by  cross- 
ing the  lake  of  Lucerne  to  Hussnacht,  thence  over  a 
strip  of  land  to  Imisee  on  the  lake  of  Zug ;  thence 
to  Art  at  its  southern  extremity,  and  thence  along  the 
small  lake  of  Lowertz  to  Bolinner,  where  we  again 
embarked  for  Altorf.  In  this  day's  tour  we  were  in 
three  of  the  small  cantons,  Zug,  Schweitz  and  Uri. 
At  Altorf  properly  commenced  our  passage  into  the 
mountains,  along  the  road  which  leads  over  the  St. 
Gothard  into  Italy.  The  path  lies  near  the  banks  of 
the  Reuss,  which  it  frequently  crosses,  especially  by 
the  famous  Pont  du  Diable.  This  road  into  Italy 
is  passable  only  by  mules  and  pedestrians,  to  which 
latter  class  we  had  the  honour  for  three  days  to  be- 
long. We  travelled  on  foot  as  far  as  Hopital,  a  small 
village  in  the  valley  of  Urseren,  at  the  foot  of  St. 
Gothard.  Here  we  took  mules  to  carry  us  over  the 
difficult  passes  of  the  Furea  and  the  Grimsel,  two  of 
the  vast  chain  of  Alps  which  laid  between  us  and 
Berne.  The  14th  September  we  crossed  the  Furea, 
being  obliged  to  descend  from  our  mules,  and  wade 
through  snow  above  our  knees,  because  the  custom- 
ary path  was  entirely  concealed.    We  descended 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  xllX 

then  to  the  source  of  the  Rhone,  and  to  the  village  of 
Oberyestelen  in  the  Haut  Valais,  from  which  point 
we  began  to  ascend  the  Grimsel.  If  you  have  a  good 
map,  you  will  see  that  we  here  made  a  very  devious 
track,  because  the  shortest  route,  which  leads  over 
the  Mayenwund,  was  rendered  impassable  by  the 
snow.  At  five  o'clock  we  reached  the  summit  of  the 
Grimsel,  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  the 
highest  point  of  our  peregrinations ;  we  slept  this 
night  in  what  is  called  the  Hospice  of  the  Grimsel. 
The  next  day  we  descended  to  Meyringen  and  left 
our  mules,  thence  across  the  lakes  to  Brienz  and 
Thun  to  Thun,  where  we  took  a  carriage  for  Berne. 
At  this  capital  we  found  our  empty  voiture,  and  our 
trunks  safe,  and  sat  off  the  next  day  for  Lausanne. 
We  passed  through  Morat,  Avenches,  Payerne  and 
Moudon,  all  Roman  cities,  and  full  of  antiquities,  and 
arrived  the  19th  at  Lausanne,  which  was  totally  un- 
interesting to  us,  except  as  the  favourite  residence  of 
Gibbon.  The  next  day  we  travelled  over  one  of  the 
most  superb  chaussees  in  the  world  to  Geneva. 
Nothing  remained  now  but  to  visit  Chamouni  and  the 
glaciers  of  Mont  Blanc,  which,  by  the  blessing  of 
heaven,  we  have  safely  accomplished  in  four  days, 
and  are  ready  to  set  off  for  Paris  to-morrow  morning. 
From  this  sketch  of  our  wanderings,  you  will  see 
that  we  have  made  a  pretty  complete  tour  through 
Switzerland,  by  travelling  less,  probably,  than  four 
hundred  miles. 


1 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 


Excuse  the  meagre  aspect  of  this  itinerary.  You 
know  it  would  be  absurd  to  attempt  to  give  in  a  let- 
ter  a  proper  journal  of  one's  travels  ;  and  to  pretend 
to  describe  any  spot  particularly  interesting,  would 
be  only  to  repeat  what  you  may  easily  find  in  books. 
All  I  mean  by  this  sketch  is,  to  let  you  know,  where 
your  friend  has  been  ;  perhaps  too  it  may  refresh  for 
a  little  while  your  geographical  recollection. 

There  is  an  event,  however,  which  happened  just 
before  our  arrival  in  Switzerland,  of  which  no  parti- 
cular account  may  have  yet  reached  America,  and 
which  I  think  cannot  be  uninteresting,  especially  to 
those  of  our  friends  who  have  visited  this  charming 
country.  Indeed  it  is  too  disastrous  to  be  related  or 
read  with  indifference. 

If  you  have  a  large  map  of  Switzerland,  I  beg  of 
you  to  look  for  a  spot  in  the  canton  of  Schweitz,  sit- 
uated between  the  lakes  of  Zug  and  Lowertz  on  two 
sides,  and  the  mountains  of  Rigi  and  Rossberg  on 
the  others.  Here,  but  three  weeks  ago,  was  one  of 
the  most  delightfully  fertile  vallies  of  all  Switzer- 
land ;  green,  and  luxuriant,  adorned  with  several  lit- 
tle villages,  full  of  secure  and  happy  farmers.  Now 
three  of  these  villages  are  forever  effaced  from  the 
earth,  and  a  broad  waste  of  ruins,  burying  alive  more 
than  fourteen  hundred  peasants,  overspreads  the  val- 
ley of  Lowertz. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  3d  of  Sep- 
tember; a  large  projection  of  the  mountain  of  Ross- 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  U 

berg,  on  the  north  east,  gave  way,  and  precipitated 
itself  into  this  valley ;  and  in  less  than  four  minutes 
completely  overwhelmed  the  three  villages  of  Grol- 
dau,  Rusingen,  and  Rathleu,  with  a  part  of  Lowertz 
and  Oberart.  The  torrent  of  earth  and  stones  was 
far  more  rapid  than  that  of  lava,  and  its  effects  as  re- 
sistless and  as  terrible.  The  mountain  in  its  descent 
carried  trees,  rocks,  houses,  every  thing  before  it. 
The  mass  spread  in  every  direction,  so  as  to  bury 
completely  a  space  of  charming  country,  more  than 
three  miles  square.  The  force  of  the  earth  must 
have  been  prodigious,  since  it  not  only  spread  over 
the  hollow  of  the  valley,  but  even  ascended  far  up 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Rigi.  The  quantity  of  earth, 
too,  is  enormous,  since  it  has  left  a  considerable  hill 
in  what  was  before  the  centre  of  the  vale.  A  portion 
of  the  falling  mass  rolled  into  the  lake  of  Lowertz, 
and  it  is  calculated  that  a  fifth  part  is  filled  up.  On 
a  minute  map  you  will  see  two  little  islands  marked 
in  this  lake,  which  have  been  admired  for  their  pic- 
turesqueness.  One  of  them  is  famous  for  the  resi- 
dence of  two  hermits,  and  the  other  for  the  remains 
of  an  ancient  chateau,  once  belonging  to  the  house  of 
Hapsburg.  So  large  a  body  of  water  was  raised  and 
pushed  forward  by  the  falling  of  such  a  mass  into  the 
lake,  that  the  two  islands,  and  the  whole  village  of 
Seven,  at  the  southern  extremity,  were,  for  a  time, 
completely  submerged  by  the  passing  of  the  swell. 
A  large  house  in  this  village  was  lifted  off  its  foun- 
dations and  carried  half  a  mile  beyond  its  place. 


lii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

The  hermits  were  absent  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  ab- 
bey of  Einsideln. 

The  disastrous  consequences  of  this  event  extend 
further  than  the  loss  of  such  a  number  of  inhabitants 
in  a  canton  of  little  population.  A  fertile  plain  is  at 
once  converted  into  a  barren  tract  of  rocks  and  cal- 
careous earth,  and  the  former  marks  and  boundaries 
of  property  obliterated.  The  main  road  from  Art  to 
Schweitz  is  completely  filled  up,  so  that  another  must 
be  opened  with  great  labour  over  the  Rigi.  The 
former  channel  of  a  large  stream  is  choked  up,  and 
its  course  altered ;  and  as  the  outlets  and  passage  of 
large  bodies  of  water  must  be  affected  by  the  filling 
up  of  such  a  portion  of  the  lake,  the  neighbouring 
villages  are  still  trembling  with  apprehension  of  some 
remote  consequences,  against  which  they  know  not 
how  to  provide.  Several  hundred  men  have  been 
employed  in  opening  passages  for  the  stagnant  wa- 
ters, in  forming  a  new  road  for  foot  passengers  along 
the  lligi,  and  in  exploring  the  ruins.  The  different 
cantons  have  contributed  to  the  relief  of  the  suffering 
canton  of  Schweitz,  and  every  head  is  at  work  to 
contrive  means  to  prevent  further  disasters. 

The  number  of  inhabitants  buried  alive  under  the 
ruins  of  this  mountain  is  scarcely  less  than  fifteen 
hundred.  Some  even  estimate  it  as  high  as  two 
thousand.  Of  these,  a  woman  and  two  children  have 
been  found  alive,  after  having  been  several  days  un- 
der ground.  They  affirm  that  while  they  were  thus 
entombed,  they  heard  the  cries  of  poor  creatures  who 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMTNSTER.  liii 

were  perishing  around  them,  for  want  of  that  succour 
which  they  were  so  happy  as  to  receive.    Indeed,  it 
is  the  opinion  of  many  well  informed  people,  that  a 
large  numher  might  still  be  recovered ;  and  a  writer 
in  the  Publiciste  goes  so  far  as  to  blame  the  inactivi- 
ty of  the  neighbouring  inhabitants  ;  and  quotes  many 
well-attested  facts  to  prove,  that  persons  have  lived  a 
long  time,  buried  under  snow  and  earth.    This  at 
least  is  probable  in  the  present  case,  that  many 
houses,  exposed  to  a  lighter  weight  than  others,  may 
have  been  merely  a  little  crushed,  while  the  lower 
story,  which,  in  this  part  of  Switzerland,  is  frequent- 
ly of  stone,  may  have  remained  firm,  and  thus  not  a 
few  of  the  inhabitants  escaped   unhurt.    The  con- 
sternation, into  which  the  neighbouring  towns  of  Art 
and  Schweitz  were  thrown,  appears  indeed  to  have 
left  them  incapable  of  contriving  and  executing  those 
labours,  which  an  enlightened  compassion  would  dic- 
tate. 

The  mountain  of  Hossberg,  as  well  as  the  Rigi, 
and  other  mountains  in  its  vicinity,  is  composed  of 
a  kind  of  brittle  calcareous  earth,  and  pudding  stone 
or  aggregated  rocks.  Such  a  prodigious  mass  as  that 
which  fell,  would  easily  crumble  by  its  own  weight, 
and  spread  over  a  wide  surface.  The  bed  of  the 
mountain,  from  which  the  desolation  came,  is  a  plane 
inclined  from  north  to  south.  Its  appearance,  as  it  is 
now  laid  bare,  would  lead  one  to  suppose  that  the 
mass,  when  first  moved  from  its  base,  slid  for  some 
distance  before  it  precipitated  itself  into  the  valley. 


liv  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

The  height  of  the  Spitsberg — the  name  of  the  pro- 
jection which  fell — above  the  lake  and  valley  of 
Lowertz,  was  little  less  than  two  thousand  feet.  The 
composition  of  the  chain  of  the  Rigi,  of  which  the 
Rossberg  makes  a  part,  has  always  been  an  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  those  system  makers,  who  have  built 
their  hypotheses  upon  the  structure  of  the  Alps.  It 
has  nothing  granitick  in  its  whole  mass,  and  though 
nearly  six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  is  green  and 
even  fertile  to  its  summit.  It  is  composed  of  nothing 
but  earth  and  stone,  combined  in  rude  masses.  It  is 
also  remarkable  that  the  strata  of  which  it  is  compos- 
ed, are  distinctly  inclined  from  the  north  toward  the 
south,  a  character  which  is  common  to  all  rocks  of 
this  kind  through  the  whole  range  of  Alps,  as  well 
as  to  the  greater  part  of  calcareous.,  schistous,  and 
pyritick  rocks,  and  also  to  the  whole  chain  of  the 
Jura. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  the  fall  of  the  mountain, 
that  our  route  through  Switzerland  led  us  to  visit 
this  scene  of  desolation  ;  and  never  can  I  forget  the 
succession  of  melancholy  views,  which  presented 
themselves  to  our  curiosity.  In  our  way  to  it,  we 
landed  at  Art,  a  town  situated  at  the  southern  ex- 
tremity of  the  lake  of  Zug ;  and  we  skirted  along  the 
western  boundary  of  the  ruins,  by  the  side  of  Mount 
Rigi,  towards  the  lake  of  Lowertz.  From  various 
points  on  our  passage,  we  had  complete  views  of 
such  a  scene  of  destruction,  as  no  words  can  ade- 
quately describe*    Picture  to  yourself  a  rude  and 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER*  lv 

mingled  mass  of  earth  and  stones,  bristled  with  the 
shattered  parts  of  wooden  cottages,  and  with  thou- 
sands of  heavy  trees,  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  pro- 
jecting in  every  direction.    In  one  part  you  might 
see  a  range  of  peasants'  huts,  which  the  torrent  of 
earth  had  reached  with  just  force  enough  to  over- 
throw and  tear  in  pieces,  but  without  bringing  soil 
enough  to  cover  them.  In  another  were  mills  broken  in 
pieces  by  huge  rocks,  transported  from  the  top  of  the 
mountains,  which  fell,  and  were  carried  high  up  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Rigi.    Large  pools  of  water  had 
formed  themselves  in  different  parts  of  the  ruins,  and 
many  little  streams,  whose  usual  channels  had  been 
filled  up,  were  bursting  out  in  various  places.  Birds 
of  prey,  attracted  by  the  smell  of  dead  bodies,  were 
hovering  all  about  the  valley.    But  the  general  im- 
pression made  upon  us  by  the  sight  of  such  an  extent 
of  desolation,  connected,  too,  with  the  idea  that  hun- 
dreds of  wretched  creatures  were  at  that  moment 
alive,  buried  under  a  mass  of  earth,  and  inaccessible 
to  the  cries  and  labours  of  their  friends,  was  too  hor- 
rible to  be  described  or  understood.    As  we  travel- 
led along  the  borders  of  the  chaos  of  ruined  build- 
ings, a  poor  peasant,  wearing  a  countenance  ghastly 
with  woe,  came  up  to  us  to  beg  a  piece  of  money. 
He  had  three  children  buried  in  the  ruins  of  a  cot- 
tage, which  he  w  as  endeavouring  to  clear  away.  A 
little  further  on,  we  came  to  an  elevated  spot,  which 
overlooked  the  whole  scene.  Here  we  found  a  painter 
seated  on  a  rock,  and  busy  in  sketching  its  horrours. 


Ivi  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCOHNSTER. 

He  had  chosen  a  most  lavourable  point.  Before  him, 
at  the  distance  of  more  than  a  league,  rose  the  Ross- 
berg,  from  whose  bare  side  had  rushed  the  destroyer 
of  all  this  life  and  beauty.  On  his  right  was  the 
lake  of  Lowertz,  partly  filled  with  the  earth  of  the 
mountain.  On  the  banks  of  this  lake  was  all  that  re- 
mained of  the  town  of  Lowertz.  Its  church  was  de- 
molished ;  but  the  tower  yet  stood  amid  the  ruins, 
shattered,  but  not  thrown  down.  The  figures,  which 
animated  this  part  of  the  drawing,  were  a  few  mis- 
erable peasants,  left  to  grope  among  the  wrecks  of 
one  half  their  village.  The  foreground  of  the  pic- 
ture was  a  wide  desolate  sweep  of  earth  and  stones, 
relieved  by  the  shattered  roof  of  a  neighbouring  cot- 
tage. On  the  left  hand  spread  the  blue  and  tranquil 
surface  of  the  lake  of  Zug,  on  the  margin  of  which 
yet  stands  the  pleasant  village  of  Art,  almost  in  con- 
tact with  the  ruins,  and  trembling  even  in  its  preser- 
vation. 

We  proceeded,  in  our  descent,  along  the  side  of 
the  Higi,  toward  the  half-buried  village  of  Lowertz. 
Here  we  saw  the  poor  curate,  who  is  said  to  have 
been  a  spectator  of  the  fall  of  the  mountain.  He  saw 
the  torrent  of  earth  rushing  toward  his  village,  over- 
whelming half  his  people,  and  stopping  just  before 
his  door  !  What  a  situation  !  He  appeared,  as  w  e 
passed,  to  be  superintending  the  labours  of  some  of 
the  survivors,  who  were  exploring  the  ruins  of  the 
place.  A  number  of  new-made  graves,  marked 
with  a  plain  pine  cross,  showed  where  a  few  of  the 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  lvil 

wretched  victims  of  this  catastrophe  had  just  been 
interred. 

Our  course  lay  along  the  borders  of  the  enchanting 
lake  of  Lowertz.  The  appearance  of  the  slopes,  on 
the  eastern  and  southern  sides,  told  us  what  the  val- 
ley of  Groldau  was  a  few  days  since,  smiling  with 
varied  vegetation,  gay  with  villages  and  cottages,  and 
bright  with  promises  of  autumnal  plenty.  The  shores 
of  this  lake  were  covered  with  ruins  of  huts,  with 
hay,  with  furniture  and  clothes,  which  the  vast  swell 
of  its  waters  had  lodged  on  the  banks.  As  we  were 
walking  mournfully  along  toward  Schweitz,  we  met 
with  the  dead  body  of  a  woman,  which  had  been 
just  found.  It  was  stretched  out  on  a  board,  and 
barely  covered  with  a  white  cloth.  Two  men,  pre- 
ceded by  a  priest,  were  carrying  it  to  a  more  decent 
burial.  We  hoped  that  this  sight  would  have  con- 
cluded the  horrours  of  this  day's  scenery,  and  that 
we  should  soon  escape  from  every  painful  vestige  of 
the  calamity  of  Schweitz.  But  we  continued  to  find 
relicks  of  ruined  buildings  for  a  league  along  the 
whole  extent  of  the  lake  ;  and  a  little  beyond  the 
two  islands,  mentioned  above,  we  saw,  lying  on  the 
shore,  the  stiff  body  of  a  peasant,  which  had  been 
washed  up  by  the  waves,  and  which  two  men  were  ex- 
amining, to  ascertain  where  he  belonged.  Our  guide 
instantly  knew  it  to  be  one  of  the  inhabitants  of  Gol- 
dau.  But  I  will  mention  no  more  particulars.  Some 
perhaps  that  have  been  related  to  me  are  not  credi- 
ble, and  others  which  are  credible  are  too  painful. 

H 


Iviii  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

The  immediate  cause  of  this  calamitous  event  is 
not  yet  sufficiently  ascertained  and  probably  never 
will  be.  The  fall  of  parts  of  hills  is  not  uncommon; 
and  in  Switzerland  especially  there  are  several  in- 
stances recorded  of  the  descent  of  large  masses  of 
earth  and  stones.  But  so  sudden  and  extensive  a  ruin, 
as  this,  was,  perhaps,  never  produced  by  the  fall  of  a 
mountain.  It  can  be  compared  only  to  the  destruc- 
tion made  by  the  tremendous  eruptions  of  Etna  and 
Vesuvius.  Many  persons  suppose  that  the  long  and 
copious  rains,  which  they  have  lately  had  in  this  part 
of  Switzerland,  may  have  swelled  the  mountains,  in 
the  Rossberg,  sufficiently  to  push  this  part  of  the 
mountain  off  its  inclined  base.  But  we  saw  no  marks 
of  streams  issuing  from  any  part  of  the  bed  which  is 
laid  bare.  Perhaps  the  consistency  of  the  earth  in 
the  interiour  of  the  mountain  was  so  much  altered  by 
the  moisture  which  penetrated  into  it,  that  the  projec- 
tion of  the  Spitzberg  was  no  longer  held  by  a  suffi- 
ciently strong  cohesion,  and  its  own  weight  carried  it 
over.  Perhaps,  as  the  earth  is  calcareous,  a  kind  of 
fermentation  took  place  sufficient  to  loosen  its  founda- 
tions. But  there  is  no  end  to  conjectures.  The 
mountain  has  fallen,  and  the  villages  are  no  more. 

I  cannot  but  reflect  upon  my  w  eakness  in  com- 
plaining of  our  long  delay  at  Strasburg.  If  we  had 
not  been  detained  there  ten  days,  waiting  for  our 
passports,  we  should  have  been  in  Switzerland  the 
3d  of  September,  probably  in  the  vicinity  of  the  lake 
of  Lower tz — perhaps  under  the  ruins  of  Goldau. 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  llX 

Several  travellers,  or  rather  strangers,  were  destroy- 
ed ;  but  whether  they  were  there  on  business  or  for 
pleasure,  I  know  not.  Among  them  are  several  re- 
spectable inhabitants  of  Berne,  and  a  young  lady  of 
fine  accomplishments  and  amiable  character,  whose 
loss  is  much  lamented.  My  dear  friend,  bless  God 
that  we  are  alive  and  enjoying  so  many  comforts. 

•  [In  the  Monthly  Magazine  for  July,  1807,  a  part 
of  the  above  letter  is  quoted,  together  with  other  par- 
ticulars of  this  event,  translated  from  a  memoir  of  M. 
Saussure,  communicated  to  the  Philosophical  Society 
at  Geneva,  and  the  narrative  of  M.  J.  H.  Meyer. 
The  number  of  individuals,  who  perished,  was,  ac- 
cording to  these  accounts,  considerably  less  than  that 
stated  by  Mr.  Buckminster. 

Something  of  the  manner,  in  which  Mr.  Buckmin- 
ster was  affected  by  the  Alpine  scenery,  will  be  seen 
by  the  following  extract.] 

YOU  find  in  some  of  the  rudest  passes  in  the  Alps 
homely  inns,  which  publick  beneficence  has  erected 
for  the  convenience  of  the  weary  and  benighted  trav- 
eller. In  most  of  these  inns  albums  are  kept  to  re- 
cord the  names  of  those,  whose  curiosity  has  led 
them  into  these  regions  of  barrenness,  and  the  album 
is  not  unfrequently  the  only  book  in  the  house.  In 
the  album  of  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  Gray,  on  his 
way  to  Geneva,  recorded  his  deathless  name,  and  left 
that  exquisite  Latin  ode,  beginning  fc  O  !  tu  severi  re- 


IX  MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER. 

ligio  loci an  ode  which  is  indeed  6  pure  nectar.' 
It  is  curious  to  observe  in  these  books  the  differenced 
of  national  character.  The  Englishman  usually 
writes  his  name  only,  without  explanation  or  com- 
ment. The  Frenchman  records  something  of  his 
feelings,  destination,  or  business  ;  commonly  adding  a 
line  of  poetry,  an  epigram,  or  some  exclamation  of 
pleasure  or  disgust.  The  German  leaves  a  long  dis- 
sertation upon  the  state  of  the  roads,  the  accommoda- 
tions, &e.  detailing  at  full  length  whence  he  came, 
and  whither  he  is  going,  through  long  pages  of  crab- 
bed writing. 

In  one  of  the  highest  regions  of  the  Swiss  Alps, 
after  a  day  of  excessive  labour  in  reaching  the  sum- 
mit of  our  journey,  near  those  thrones  erected  ages 
ago  for  the  majesty  of  nature,  we  stopped,  fatigued 
and  dispirited,  on  a  spot  destined  to  eternal  barren- 
ness, where  we  found  one  of  these  rude  but  hospita- 
ble inns  open  to  receive  us.  There  was  not  another 
human  habitation  within  many  miles.  All  the  soil, 
which  we  could  see,  had  been  brought  thither,  and 
placed  carefully  round  the  cottage  to  nourish  a  few 
cabbages  and  lettuces.  There  were  some  goats, 
which  supplied  the  cottagers  with  milk  ;  a  few  fowls 
lived  in  the  house ;  and  the  greatest  luxuries  of  the 
place  were  new-made  cheeses,  and  some  wild  alpine 
mutton,  the  rare  provision  for  the  traveller.  Yet  here 
nature  had  thrown  off  the  veil,  and  appeared  in  all 
her  sublimity.  Summits  of  bare  granite  rose  all 
around  us.    The  snow-clad  tops  of  distant  Alps 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMINSTER.  Ixi 

seemed  to  chill  the  moon-beams,  that  lighted  on 
them  ;  and  we  felt  all  the  charms  of  the  picturesque, 
mingled  with  the  awe  inspired  by  unchangeable  gran- 
deur. We  seemed  to  have  reached  the  original  el- 
evations of  the  globe,  overtopping  forever  the  tumults, 
the  vices,  and  the  miseries  of  ordinary  existence,  far 
out  of  the  hearing  of  the  murmurs  of  a  busy  world, 
which  discord  ravages  and  luxury  corrupts.  We 
asked  for  the  Album,  and  a  large  folio  was  brought 
us,  almost  filled  with  the  scrawls  of  every  nation  on 
earth,  that  could  write.  Instantly  our  fatigue  was 
forgotten,  and  the  evening  passed  away  pleasantly  in 
the  entertainment,  which  this  book  afforded  us.  I 
copied  the  following  French  couplet  : 

Dans  ces  sauvages  lieux  tout  orgueil  s'humanise  ; 

Dieu  s'y  montre  plus  grand ;  l'homme  s'y  pulverise ! 

Signed,  p.  ed.  trenir. 

I  wish  I  could  preserve  the  elegance,  as  well  as  the 
condensed  sentiment  of  the  original. 

Still  are  these  rugged  realms  :  e'en  pride  is  hush'd  : 
God  seems  more  grand  :  man  crumbles  into  dust. 

NOTE  B.    PAGE  xxviii. 

Review  of  Dr.  Miller's  Retrospect  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  the  first  piece  ever  published  by  Mr. 
B.  Literary  Miscellany,  Vol.  I.  p.  82.  Remarker, 
No.  5,  on  criticism.  Monthly  Anthology.  Vol.  III.  19. 
Review  of  Sherman  on  the  Trinity.  Id.  III.  249. 
Review  of  the  Salem  Sallust.  Id.  II.  549.  Intro- 


Ixii 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  BUCKMIXSTER. 


ductiori  to  retrospective  notices  of  American  litera- 
ture. Id.  V.  52.  Remarker,  No.  31,  on  Gray.  Id. 
V.  367.  and  484.  Review  of  Logan's  version  of  Cato 
Major.  Id.  V.  281,  316  and  391.  Editor's  address. 
Id.  VI.  1.  Discourse  before  the  B.  K.  Id.  VII. 
14j.  Translation  of  the  article  iineyma  from  Schleus- 
ner's  Lexicon,  with  notes.  General  Repository  and 
Review.  Vol.  I.  p.  296. 


NOTE  C.    PAGE  xxxi. 

Notices  of  Griesbach's  Greek  Testament.  Anthol- 
ogy. V.  18.  VI.  349.  X.  107  and  403.  Defence  of 
the  accuracy  and  fidelity  of  Griesbach.  General  Re- 
pository. L  89. 


SERMONS 

BY  THE  LATE 


REV.  JOSEPH  STEVENS  BUCKMINSTER. 


SERMON  I. 


GAL.  iv.  4. 

BUT  WHEN  THE  FULNESS  OF    TIME    WAS    COME,   GOD  SENT 
FORTH   HIS  SON. 

MORE  than  eighteen  centuries  ago  there  appear- 
ed in  Judea  an  extraordinary  personage  called  Jesus 
of  Nazareth.  The  consequences  of  his  life,  death, 
resurrection  and  ascension  have  been  such  as  no  hu- 
man foresight  could  anticipate,  no  human  power  con- 
trol ;  and  it  is  not  now  in  man's  imagination  to  trace 
them  through  the  range  of  future  generations.  Even 
if  it  should  be  maintained,  that  there  was  nothing 
supernatural  in  this  character,  or  these  consequences, 
yet  the  event  and  its  influences  must  forever  remain 
stupendous.  The  appearance  of  such  a  person  in 
the  world,  and  at  such  a  period,  with  the  consequent 
change  in  so  large  a  portion  of  society,  ought  always 
to  arrest  the  consideration  of  every  thinking  mind. 
It  has  made  an  era  in  the  history  of  mankind,  which 

must  be  eternally  memorable.    We,  who  believe  that 
1 


2 

the  birth  of  Christ  was  the  birth  of  a  Saviour  for  the 
world,  who  see  in  him  the  Son  of  the  omnipotent 
God  ;  we, — who  believe  that  the  purposes  of  his  in- 
carnation were  such  as  eye  had  not  seen,  nor  ear 
heard,  nor  lias  any  mind  yet  perfectly  explored,  and 
who  rest  all  our  peace  and  hopes  on  him,  and  him 
alone,  as  the  vicegerent  of  Jehovah, — cannot  be  sur- 
prised at  the  long  established  celebration  of  the  sup- 
posed day  of  his  birth,  or  withhold  our  concurrence 
from  the  honours,  which  so  large  a  portion  of  the 
christian  world  are  disposed  to  pay  it,  especially 
when  it  coincides,  as  at  present,  with  our  customary 
day  of  worship.  And  at  other  times  also  w  e  are  dis- 
posed to  say  with  the  apostle,  he  that  regardeth  the 
day,  regardeth  it  unto  the  Lord,  and  he  that  regard- 
eth not  the  day,  to  the  Lord  he  doth  not  regard  it. 
Let  every  man  be  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind. 

It  is  certain  that  about  eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 
Jesus,  this  extraordinary  person,  appeared,  whose 
birth,  life,  death,  resurrection  and  ascension  comple- 
ted a  series  of  astonishing  and,  as  we  believe,  miracu- 
lous events.  This  Jesus  claimed  the  character  of  the 
long  expected  Messiah,  the  light  and  salvation  of  the 
world  ;  and  under  this  character  he  is  received  by 
all  who  embrace  his  religion  and  acknowledge  his 
divine  authority.  It  will  be  our  object  in  this  dis- 
course to  show,  that  the  time  in  which  he  appeared 
was,  in  every  respect,  the  most  proper  for  his  appear- 
ance,— this  is  the  ftrst  head  of  discourse, — yet  that 
this  Illness  of  the  period  lent  no  aid  to  the  propaga- 


3 

tion  of  his  religion,  and  diminished  not  the  least  the 
necessity  of  miraculous  interposition  for  its  support, 
— this  is  our  second  division.  In  other  words,  the 
state  of  the  world,  when  Christ  was  horn,  was  such 
as  to  constitute,  at  the  same  moment,  the  most  proper 
time  for  his  appearance  and  the  greatest  impediment 
to  the  success  of  his  religion. 

1.  When  the  fulness  of  time  was  come,  God  sent 
forth  his  Son.    The  fitness  of  the  moment  appears  in 
the  first  place  from  this  undeniable  fact,  that  there 
was,  at  that  time,  a  general  expectation  throughout 
the  world  of  the  advent  of  some  illustrious  prophet 
and  deliverer,  who  should  change  the  aspect  of  hu- 
man affairs.    The  rumour  seems  to  have  advanced 
from  the  east,  and  to  have  even  reached  the  ears  of 
the  Roman  emperour.    We  shall  omit  the  scriptural 
proofs  of  this  general  expectation,  till  we  have  produ- 
ced some  remarkable  passages  from  three  indepen- 
dent and  unbiassed  authors  of  that  age.    The  first  is 
from  Josephus,  the  Jewish  annalist  of  that  tremendous 
war,  which  ended  in  the  destruction  of  his  nation  ; 
a  man,  all  whose  prejudices  were  against  the  Mes- 
siahship  and  religion  of  Jesus.    He  is  speaking  of 
the  causes,  which  stimulated  the  Jews  to  revolt  from 
the  authority  of  the  Romans.    "  But  that  which 
principally  encouraged  them  to  the  war,"  says  he, 
66  was  an  ambiguous  oracle,  found  also  in  our  sacred 
writings,  that  about  that  time  some  one  from  Judea 
should  obtain  the  empire  of  the  world.    This  they 
understood  to  belong  to  themselves,  and  many  of  their 


1 


wise  men  were  mistaken  in  their  judgment ;  for  this 
oracle  referred  to  the  government  of  Vespasian,  who 
was  proclaimed  emperour  in  Judea."*  This  you  ob- 
serve is  the  explanation  of  Josephus,  in  compliment 
to  his  imperial  master.  The  second  is  from  Sueto- 
nius, a  Roman  historian,  who  wrote,  about  the  same 
time,  the  biography  of  the  emperours.  His  words 
are  these  :  "  There  had  been  for  a  long  time  all  over 
the  east,  a  notion  firmly  believed,  that  it  was  in  the 
books  of  the  fates,  that  some  one  from  Judea  was 
destined,  about  that  time,  to  obtain  the  empire  of  the 
world. "f  The  third  passage  is  from  Tacitus,  an 
historian  of  veracity  and  universal  credit.  He  has 
been  relating  the  calamities  of  the  Jews,  which  pre- 
ceded the  destruction  of  their  city,  and  then  ob- 
serves :  "  that  the  mass  of  the  people  entertained  a 
strong  persuasion,  that  it  was  mentioned  in  the  an- 
cient writings  of  the  priests,  that  at  that  very  time 
the  east  should  prevail,  and  some  one  from  Judea 
obtain  the  empire  of  the  world.  These  ambiguities," 
says  Tacitus,  like  the  rest,  u  predicted  Vespasian 
and  Titus  ;  but  the  common  people,  according  to  the 
usual  influence  of  human  passions,  having  once  ap- 
propriated to  themselves  this  destined  greatness, 
could  not  be  brought  to  understand  the  true  meaning 
by  all  their  adversities. ??J  There  are  other  passages 
in  heathen  authors,  which  I  think  it  unnecessary  to 
mention,  which  prove  that  this  expectation  was  prev- 

*  Lardner  i.  p.  132.  f  Suet.  Vesp.  cap.  iv. 

4  Tacit.  Hist.  1.  v.  c.  15. 


alent  at  this  time  in  the  oriental  world,  and  especially 
in  Judea.  These  surely  are  remarkable  attestations  ; 
and  the  many  instances  of  persons,  who  appeared  in 
Judea  about  this  time,  pretending  to  be  the  Messiah, 
and  collecting  vast  numbers  of  deluded  Jews  around 
them — facts  repeatedly  mentioned  by  the  historians 
of  that  day — are  additional  proofs  of  this  general  per- 
suasion. 

If  we  turn  now  to  the  New  Testament,  we  shall 
find  this  state  of  things  corroborated  there  by  many 
incidental  circumstances.  The  state  of  the  publick 
mind  in  Judea  is  indicated  by  the  anxiety  of  Herod 
upon  hearing  of  the  birth  of  a  remarkable  child  in 
Bethlehem,  and  by  the  visit  of  the  eastern  Magi. 
Still  more  illustrative  is  the  thronging  of  the  multi- 
tude to  John  upon  his  first  appearance,  and  the  mes- 
sage of  the  Pharisees  and  priests  to  inquire,  if  he 
were  the  Christ.  "  And  all  the  people  mused  in  their 
hearts,"  says  the  evangelist,  "  whether  he  were  the 
Christ,  or  not."  We  discover  the  same  eager  expecta- 
tion of  the  Messiah,  as  a  prophet  as  well  as  prince, 
in  the  conversation  of  the  Samaritan  woman,  who  be- 
longed, you  will  observe,  to  a  different  and  hostile 
nation.  Observe  too  how  the  people  pressed  around 
Jesus,  demanding  the  sign  from  heaven  which  they 
expected  of  the  Messiah ;  observe  how  they  caught 
at  every  appearance  of  extraordinary  power ;  how, 
after  his  performance  of  a  miracle,  they  were  ready 
to  take  him  by  force  and  make  him  a  king ;  and  with 
what  acclamations  and  regal  honours  the  multitude 


6 


accompanied  him  into  Jerusalem.  His  humble  con- 
dition and  ignominious  death  alone  restrained  and  ex- 
tinguished their  enthusiasm.  In  a  word,  every  thing 
in  profane  history  and  in  the  evangelical  narrative 
proves,  that  the  minds  of  the  men  of  that  age  were 
wrought  to  a  high  pitch  of  expectation,  that  the  great 
prophet  and  king  would  soon  come  into  the  world. 

2.  But  what  was  the  source  of  this  universal  ex- 
pectation at  this  moment  ?  I  answer,  that  I  can  dis- 
cover or  imagine  nothing,  except  what  these  historians 
themselves  assign  as  the  authority,  the  oracles  of  the 
Jewish  scriptures.  This  was  the  fulness  of  time  for 
the  advent  of  the  Messiah,  because  it  was  the  time 
predicted  in  prophecy.  To  the  prophets  Christ  and 
his  apostles  repeatedly  refer,  and  to  me  it  appears, 
that  if  every  other  prediction  of  a  Messiah  in  the  Old 
Testament  were  allowed  to  be  ambiguous,  the  single 
prophecy  in  the  fifty  third  chapter  of  Isaiah  w  ould  be 
sufficient  to  mark  out  the  person  we  have  acknowledg- 
ed. It  is  too  long  to  be  quoted  here,  but  it  may  safe- 
ly be  asserted  that  the  description  contained  in  it  ap- 
plies, in  the  most  remarkable  manner,  to  Jesus  of  Naz- 
areth, and  to  no  other  person  within  our  knowledge, 
who  ever  lived.  It  is  the  prophecy,  which  engaged 
the  attention  of  the  Ethiopian  eunuch,  and  which 
Philip  explained  to  him  in  the  only  manner  in  which 
it  can  be  appropriated  by  any  ingenuous  man,  who 
has  read  the  history  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  But  you 
will  inquire,  perhaps,  what  prediction  so  accurately 
marks  the  tune  of  the  Messiah's  advent,  as  to  have 


7 

excited  this  extraordinary  expectation  at  this  precise 
period.  I  must  acknowledge,  that  some  of  those  pas- 
sages which  are  commonly  alleged,  particularly  the 
mention  of  Shiloh,  in  Genesis,  and  the  desire  of  all 
nations,  in  Haggai,  do  not  appear  to  me  sufficiently 
indubitable  in  any  interpretation,  which  they  have 
hitherto  received.  There  is  however  a  remarkable 
passage  in  Daniel — the  celebrated  prophecy  of  the 
seventy  weeks — which,  if  there  were  no  other,  ap- 
pears to  me  sufficient  to  have  authorized  the  general 
expectation  Ave  have  mentioned.  There  is  not  a  sha- 
dow of  reason  for  yielding  to  the  susrsrestions  of 
Porphyry,  that  this  book  was  written  after  the  events 
it  predicts,  and  that  it  is  only  an  ambiguous  history 
of  the  times  of  Antiochus.  Our  Saviour  himself  ap- 
peals to  a  part  of  it,  in  describing  the  desolation  of  Je- 
rusalem. Therefore  it  certainly  existed  in  his  time, 
and  was  applied  to  approaching  events.  Let  it  be  re- 
membered too,  that  Porphyry  does  not  pretend  to  dis- 
pute the  existence  of  the  book  before  the  time  of  Christ, 
but  quarrels  with  the  application  of  its  prophecies  to 
him.  In  this  celebrated  prediction,  then,  it  clearly  ap- 
pears, that  in  about  five  hundred  years  from  the  decree 
to  rebuild  Jerusalem,  after  the  captivity,  the  Messiah 
should  appear.  From  whatever  date  the  reckoning  is 
made,  or  whatever  length  is  assigned  to  the  years,  the 
variations  are  not,  upon  any  supposition,  so  great  as  to 
prevent  our  acknowledging  that  such  a  prophecy, 
wherever  it  was  read,  must  have  excited  the  expecta- 


8 

tions,  which  we  are  sure  prevailed,  of  the  appearance 
of  the  Messiah  about  the  very  time  that  Jesus  lived. 

If  you  add  to  these  considerations,  that  more  than 
one  intimation  is  given  in  the  prophets,  that  the  Mes- 
siah should  come  while  the  second  temple  was  stand- 
ing, that  it  was  well  understood  that  he  should  be 
born  of  the  family  of  David,  and  of  the  tribe  of  Judah, 
you  will  instantly  perceive  that  he  must  have  appear- 
ed, if  at  all,  before  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem.  For 
who  does  not  know,  that  since  that  unparalleled  deso- 
lation the  Jews  have  been  dispersed  throughout  the 
habitable  globe,  that  they  have  not  now  the  vestige  of 
a  temple,  that  their  distinction  of  tribes  is  confounded, 
that  their  families  and  genealogies  are  utterly  lost,  and 
that  it  became  and  has  remained,  from  the  hour  of 
this  overthrow,  utterly  impossible  to  apply  the  distinc- 
tive marks  of  the  Messiah  to  any  future  pretender  ? 
Christ,  then,  must  have  appeared  at  the  period  he  did, 
or  not  at  all  ;  and  in  our  controversy  with  the  Jews 
this  circumstance  appears  nearly  decisive.  It  was 
the  fulness  of  time,  the  consummation  of  prophecy, 
the  closing  period  of  the  Jewish  state. 

3.  In  the  third  place  the  peculiar  circumstances  and 
character  of  the  nation,  when  God  sent  forth  his  Son, 
render  that  period  the  fulness  of  time.  Even  from  the 
time  of  Malachi,  a  period  of  several  centuries,  they 
had  been  favoured  with  no  prophet,  or  authorized  in- 
structer.  Their  religion,  which  was  introduced  in 
the  infancy  of  the  world,  only  to  answer  Grod's  design 
of  exhibiting  the  providence,  and  preserving  the 


ft 


knowledge  of  one  supreme  Deity,  in  the  midst  of  an 
idolatrous  world,  had  now  accomplished  its  purpose. 
About  two  centuries  before  Christ,  the  sacred  books 
of  the  Jews  had  been  translated  into  Greek,  which 
might  then  be  called  the  language  of  the  civilized 
world.  They  were  thus  made  accessible  to  all  the 
readers  and  thinkers  of  that  polished  age  ;  and  the 
language  of  many  of  the  heathen  philosophers  dis- 
covers, that  they  were  not  unacquainted  with  Moses. 
At  this  period,  too,  the  Jews,  under  the  favour  of  the 
successors  of  Alexander,  had  established  themselves 
in  every  considerable  city  in  the  Roman  empire. 
Their  synagogues  were  every  where  tolerated,  and 
they  seem  to  have  had  proselytes  all  over  the  world. 
The  world  was  indeed  in  such  a  situation,  that  the 
knowledge  of  any  thing  extraordinary  in  their  for- 
tunes would  be  instantly  diffused. 

The  corruption  of  their  manners  and  of  their  relig- 
ion had,  by  this  time,  discovered  the  utter  insufficiency 
of  their  economy,  and  demanded  a  thorough  revolu- 
tion. The  traditions  of  the  elders  had  completely 
nullified  their  law  :  it  had  lost  all  its  moral,  and  re- 
tained only  its  ceremonial  force  ;  and  an  insane  zeal 
for  this  narrow  and  superstitious  religion  had  usurped, 
in  their  minds,  the  place  of  every  virtue,  human  or  di- 
vine. They  were  at  once  the  most  corrupt  and  big- 
oted of  religionists,  and  God's  mercy  seemed  to  call 
for  the  abolition  of  this  peculiarity,  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  more  liberal  and  more  spiritual  dispensation. 
The  common  Jews  were  enslaved  by  a  hierarchy,  k- 


10 


conceivably  odious,  and  yet  they  were  never  more  fu- 
riously zealous  for  their  rituals  and  their  temple.  In- 
deed this  private  religious  zeal,*  as  it  was  called, 
appears  to  have  been  almost  the  only  principle 
by  which  they  were  actuated  ;  and  this  principle 
is  not  only  consistent  with,  but  encourages  and 
justifies  all  the  crimes  of  society,  treachery,  revolt, 
discord,  revenge,  secret  conspiracies,  assassinations 
and  open  murder.  The  testimony  of  Josephus, 
in  numerous  passages,  corroborates  that  of  the  apos- 
tle Paul  to  the  depravity  of  the  Jews  ;  and  he  some- 
where observes,  that  never  was  there  a  time,  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world,  more  fruitful  in  wicked- 
ness than  that  in  which  he  lived,  and  that  if  the  Ro- 
mans had  delayed  to  come  against  their  city,  it  must 
have  been  swallowed  up  by  an  earthquake,  or  over- 
whelmed by  a  deluge.  Surely,  if  ever  the  extreme 
corruption  of  a  national  religion  could  demand  the 
interposition  of  Jehovah,  this  was  the  fulness  of  time 
for  the  appearance  of  his  Son. 

4.  The  moral  and  religious  condition  of  the  hea- 
then world,  at  the  period  of  Christ's  birth,  is  another 
proof,  that  this  was  the  most  proper  time  for  his  ap- 
pearance. In  consequence  of  the  progress  of  philos- 
ophy, and  other  causes,  the  polytheism  of  ancient 
times  had  lost  all  its  influence,  except  with  the  lowest 
of  the  people,  and  there  was  nothing  left  to  supply  its 
place  in  the  minds  of  the  great.  The  fear  of  the  gods 
had  vanished,  and  with  it  almost  all  sense  of  moral 

*  Sec  Larduer,  vol.  I. 


/ 


11 


obligation.  Power  and  wealth  had  introduced  into  the 
Roman  nation  the  most  effeminate  and  selfish  corrup- 
tion, and  the  early  virtues  of  the  commonwealth  were 
no  longer  known.  In  Greece,  the  worship  of  the  gods 
was  the  mode,  and  their  temples  were  the  theatres  of 
inconceivable  profligacy  ;  and  in  truth,  the  remains  of 
their  idolatrous  superstition  seemed  to  exist  only  for  the 
more  publick  encouragement  of  every  species  of  infa- 
my. The  glowing  description,  which  Paul  gives  in 
the  first  chapter  of  Romans  of  the  corruptions  of  that 
age,  is  confirmed  by  innumerable  passages  in  pagan 
writers.  To  say  all  in  one  word,  they  had  united  the 
more  dissolute  vices  of  a  luxurious  age  with  the  more 
sanguinary  crimes  of  a  ruder  state  of  society. 

5.  Lastly,  the  intellectual  progress,  which  the  world 
had  then  made,  was  such  as  to  demand  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  revelation.  The  time  of  Christ  was  the  age 
of  refinement  in  literature,  and  of  acuteness  in  philo- 
sophical investigation.  The  thinking  part  of  the 
world  had  proceeded  just  far  enough  to  discover  the 
utter  futility  and  absurdity  of  their  idolatrous  relig- 
ion, and  to  reach  the  bounds  of  unassisted  specula- 
tion, without  finding  any  thing  on  which  to  rest.  The 
result  of  the  labours  of  philosophy  appeared  to  be  a 
total  scepticism  on  the  most  important  subjects  of  hu- 
man duty  and  expectation.  The  irregular  fears  of  a 
future  state  had  been  supplanted  by  the  materialism 
of  Epicurus  ;  and  this  system — if  system  it  may  be 
called,  which  left  them  without  a  God,  a  providence, 
a  morality,  or  a  retribution — was  the  fashionable  phi- 


losophy  of  tlie  more  cultivated  classes.  They  had 
learnt  just  enough  to  believe,  that  religion  and  morals 
were  entirely  unconnected  ;  that  the  old  rites  were  to 
be  kept  up,  only  as  the  established  religion  of  the 
state  ;  and  they  had  proceeded  just  far  enough  to 
suppose,  that  it  was  the  absurdest  thing  in  the  world 
to  talk  of  religion,  except  as  an  old  established  fol- 
ly for  weak  minds.  In  all  the  fine  writings  of  the 
best  sages  of  paganism,  there  is  nothing  to  be  found 
like  a  system  of  morals,  which  reaches  to  the  heart, 
and  regulates  and  sanctifies  the  affections.  They 
had  attained  glimpses  of  some  great  truths,  but  their 
knowledge  was  like  the  occasional  flashes  of  the 
lights  in  the  north,  a  knowledge,  which,  in  their  best 
men,  only  excited  a  more  ardent  desire  for  the  full 
light  of  intellectual  day.  In  this  state  of  the  human 
understanding,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  the  Sun  of  right- 
eousness arose. 

There  are  other  circumstances  in  the  state  of  the 
world  at  that  time,  which  sufficiently  prove  the  fit- 
ness of  the  moment  Avhen  God  chose  to  send  his  Son 
into  the  world  ;  but  I  forbear  to  enlarge  on  this  head. 

My  second  proposition  was,  that  the  very  facts, 
which  show  the  fitness  of  the  time  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  Christianity,  are  the  very  circumstances  which 
show,  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  establish 
it  in  the  world  without  supernatural  aid.  This  state 
of  the  world  not  only  lent  our  religion  no  aid  in  its 
promulgation,  but  is  the  very  state  of  things  which 
leaves  us  no  other  method  of  accounting  for  the  unex^ 


13 


ampled  progress  of  Christianity,  but  the  belief  that  the 
power  of  God  was  exerted  in  its  origin  and  propa- 
gation. 

If  I  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  make  this  appear, 
you  will  acknowledge,  with  me,  the  wonderful  fore- 
sight of  God  in  this  singular  juncture  of  human  af- 
fairs :  that  the  very  circumstances,  which  most  showed 
the  necessity  and  demanded  the  introduction  of  a  new 
religion,  should  also  prove  that  it  could  not  have  made 
its  way  in  the  world,  except  by  supernatural  means, 
and  of  consequence  unless  it  had  been  true.  You 
will  cry  out  with  the  apostle,  how  unsearchable,  O 
God,  are  thy  judgments,  and  thy  ways  past  finding  out ! 

1.  In  the  first  place,  that  universal  expectation 
among  the  Jews  of  the  appearance  of  their  Messiah, 
was  the  very  circumstance  which  led  to  his  almost 
universal  rejection  by  his  nation.  Do  you  ask,  how 
this  could  be  ?  I  answer,  because,  with  the  earnest  ex- 
pectation of  a  great  prophet  and  priest,  who  should 
appear  among  them,  they  had  inseparably  connected 
the  idea  of  a  temporal  deliverer,  a  national  head,  and 
the  splendour  of  external  royalty.  Hence,  whenever 
they  began  to  collect  around  Jesus,  and  to  show  him 
marks  of  devotedness  and  attachment,  it  always  hap- 
pened that  some  proof  of  his  humility,  or  of  his  peace- 
able and  unwarlike  character  appeared  and  disgusted 
them,  and  turned  the  whole  current  of  their  feelings. 
Hence,  as  soon  as  he  was  arrested,  and  their  worldly 
hopes  were  blasted,  the  crowd,  who  followed  him  with 
acclamations  into  Jerusalem;  were  the  Yery  populace, 


14 

who  cried  crucify  him,  crucify  him,  and  followed  him 
to  the  mount  of  crucifixion  with  shouts  of  insult  and 
disdain.  Their  rulers  and  priests  were  wise  enough, 
from  the  first,  to  know,  that  so  poor,  humble  and  unre- 
sisting a  character  could  never  be  the  Messiah  they 
had  expected.  Hence  the  inquiry,  have  any  of  the 
rulers  or  Pharisees  believed  on  him  ?  But  the  com- 
mon people,  who  had  from  time  to  time  caught  at  the 
manifestation  of  miraculous  power  in  Jesus,  were  in- 
discribably  vexed  and  disappointed  when  they  found 
their  expectations  false,  and  Jesus  quietly  submitting 
to  crucifixion.  Nothing  you  know  is  so  violent  as 
the  rage  of  a  mob,  when  completely  disappointed  in  a 
favourite  project  or  channel.  Hence  we  find,  that  the 
true  and  insuperable  objection  to  the  reception  of  the 
gospel  in  the  Jewish  nation  was  the  ignominious  death 
of  its  author.  The  cross  of  Christ  was  their  great 
stumbling  block.  "  This  man  cannot  be  the  Messiah, 
for  he  has  died  like  a  malefactor."  I  may  safely 
conclude,  then,  that  the  previous  universal  expectation 
of  the  Jews,  which  was  so  completely  overthrown  by 
the  manner  of  our  Lord's  death,  was  the  first  obsta- 
cle to  the  reception  of  his  religion,  of  which  the  first 
and  fundamental  article  is,  Jesus  the  Messiah. 

2.  In  the  second  place,  the  prophecies,  which  ap- 
peared to  have  their  completion  in  Jesus,  did  not 
probably  lend  any  aid  to  his  claims,  when  they  were 
announced  to  the  Gentiles.  For,  as  the  Jews  became 
more  known  in  the  world,  and  their  sacred  writings 
read  by  reading  men,  they  were  thought  a  credulous 


15 

and  superstitious  face,  and  it  could  have  been  no  re- 
commendation to  any  personage  to  pretend,  that  he 
was  predicted  in  their  prophecies.  It  appears  to  me, 
that  no  circumstance  would  have  been  more  likely  to 
excite  a  sneer  in  the  wise  men  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
than  to  be  invited  to  embrace  the  religion  of  a  man, 
who  had  been  pointed  out  in  Jewish  prophecy.  They 
would  have  said,  like  Horace,  let  the  credulous  Jew 
believe  this.  Their  prophets  are  of  no  more  authori- 
ty with  us,  than  our  own  Sybilline  books  ;  and  we  all 
know  that  augur  cannot  look  at  augur  without  laughing. 
You  will  acknowledge,  then,  I  think,  with  me,  that  to 
assert  that  Jesus  was  the  consummation  of  Jewish 
prophecy,  would  have  only  excited  a  greater  prejudice 
against  him  in  the  minds  of  the  majority  of  Greeks 
and  Romans.  A  Jewish  Messiah  was  the  last  whom 
they  would  have  chosen  for  the  founder  of  a  universal 
faith,  after  they  had  heard  of  such  men  among  them- 
selves, as  Numa,  Pythagoras,  Socrates  and  Plato. 

3.  In  the  third  place,  the  very  situation  of  the  Jew- 
ish nation,  which  rendered  the  necessity  of  a  new  dis- 
pensation most  evident,  presented  the  very  circum- 
stances most  hostile  to  the  propagation  of  Christianity, 
The  corruption  of  their  religion  inflamed  them  with  a 
most  bigoted  attachment  to  it,  because  at  that  state  it 
most  favoured  their  private  vices  and  national  pride. 
Thus  we  find,  that  the  contempt  which  Jesus  discov- 
ered for  their  traditions,  the  generous  views  of  God 
and  virtue  which  he  opened,  and  the  internal  purity 
which  he  recommended,  were  the  very  things  which 


46 


awakened  their  suspicions,  and  excited  against  him 
their  most  inveterate  hostility.  This  single  character 
of  our  Lord,  without  any  other  revolting  circumstance, 
would  have  most  effectually  suppressed  his  cause,  if 
it  had  heen  the  cause  of  man  only. 

Again,  the  circumstance  of  the  very  general  disper- 
sion of  the  Jews  throughout  the  Roman  empire,  at  this 
period,  which,  to  a  superficial  ohserver,  appears  favour- 
able to  the  propagation  of  Christianity,  presented  on 
the  whole  a  serious  obstacle.  It  is  true,  the  knowl- 
edge of  our  Saviour's  life  was  thus  sooner  communi- 
cated and  farther  spread.  But  to  counterbalance  this, 
let  it  be  remembered,  that  the  same  national  preju- 
dices, the  same  corruptions  of  principle  and  practice, 
which  impelled  the  ruler  and  priest  at  Jerusalem  to 
reject  and  crucify  Jesus,  were  diffused  through  the 
whole  Jewish  people  in  every  part  of  the  world,  and 
that  they  exerted  every  where  the  same  malignity  to- 
wards Jesus  and  his  church.  Wherever  Jews  were 
found,  there  too  were  found  enemies  of  the  new  religion. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  tumults  and  opposition,  which, 
as  we  learn  from  the  Acts,  they  every  where  excited, 
the  new  doctrine  might  have  been  received  among 
the  Gentiles  peaceably  enough,  though  perhaps  slow- 
ly, and  not  without  contempt.  But  the  apostles  al- 
ways and  every  where  found  among  the  Jews  the  in- 
defatigable opponents  of  the  great  truth  they  preach- 
ed, that  Jesus  was  the  promised  Messiah. 

Still  further ;  the  Jews,  wherever  they  were  known, 
were  odious  to  the  Romans,  and  their  more  extensive 


17 

intercourse  with  foreigners  served  only  to  increase 
the  general  contempt  and  hatred  which  existed 
against  their  nation.  Hence  it  was  a  prejudice, 
almost  insurmountable  in  the  mind  of  a  Greek  or  a 
Roman,  that  the  apostles,  the  first  preachers  of  the 
new  faith,  were  of  so  detestable  an  origin.  "  Are  not 
these  men  that  speak,  Galileans,  and  can  any  good 
come  out  of  such  a  country  of  rebels/'  must  have  been 
the  first  thought  in  the  mind  of  a  listening  heathen. 
Can  you  imagine  any  thing,  my  friends,  more  unfa- 
vourable to  the  promulgation  of  Christianity  in  the 
world,  than  this  very  state  of  the  Jews  at  home  and 
abroad,  Avhich  seemed  to  you  at  first  so  favourable  to 
its  progress  ? 

4.  The  corrupt  morals  of  the  pagan  world,  which 
demanded  the  introduction  of  a  purer  system,  were  also 
extremely  unfavourable  to  the  cordial  reception  of  any 
thing  so  pure  as  the  gospel.  The  apostles  of  Christ 
preached  a  purity  of  heart,  of  which  the  world  had 
then  hardly  a  faint  conception.  The  new  religion 
condemned,  as  odious  in  the  sight  of  God,  the  vices 
to  which  the  Gentiles  were  most  enslaved,  and 
threatened  the  punishment  of  hell  to  the  very  prac- 
tices which  they  had  consecrated,  by  making  them  a 
part  of  their  worship,  and  the  best  recommendations 
to  the  favour  of  their  deities.  Wherever  the  gospel 
was  received,  it  banished  all  their  pompous  sacrifices, 
their  idol  feasts,  their  dissolute  worship  ;  wherever  it 
was  received,  their  favourite  fights  of  gladiators,  their 

theatrical  shows,  and  all  the  sanguinarv  amusements 
3 


18 


of  the  populace,  which  long  habit  had  made  necessary, 
disappeared.  In  the  midst  of  a  luxurious,  relaxed, 
selfish  and  sensual  age,  it  demanded  a  degree  of  morti- 
fication and  self  denial,  which  must  at  any  time  have 
appeared  intolerable ;  and  not  only  so,  but  it  exposed  its 
professors  to  contempt,  persecution,  the  loss  of  former 
friends,  the  dissolution  of  established  habits,  to  pover- 
ty, ignominy,  and  not  seldom  to  deatli  itself.  This 
was  the  prospect  it  opened  to  the  mass  of  the  Gentile 
world.  And  how  think  you  was  it  likely  to  be  re- 
ceived among  the  luxurious  senators,  the  vain  literati, 
the  tyrannical  prefects,  the  military  governours  and 
generals,  the  consulars  decked  out  with  honours,  the 
licentious  favourites  of  the  men  of  power — -a  religion 
which  preached  the  vanity  of  temporal  honours,  the 
folly  of  pagan  w  isdom,  the  dangers  of  station  and  in- 
Huence,  in  one  word,  which  preached  a  poverty  of 
spirit,  which  must  have  appeared  to  men,  whose  senti- 
ments were  so  depraved,  the  height  of  fanatick  ab- 
surdity, If  then  the  corruptions  of  the  world  called 
for  the  introduction  of  the  gospel,  as  soon  as  it  was 
preached,  these  very  corruptions,  from  the  emperour 
on  his  throne  down  to  his  dissolute  slaves,  were  ar- 
rayed against  it  in  all  the  hardihood  of  the  gros- 
sest depravity. 

Lastly,  the  intellectual  refinement  of  that  period, 
which  may  be  thought  to  have  prepared  the  minds  of 
men  for  some  of  the  sublime  instructions  of  revelation, 
was  perhaps  still  more  unfavourable  to  its  progress. 
It  enabled  men  indeed  to  understand  the  gospel,  but 


it  encouraged  them  at  the  same  time  to  despise  it 
Do  you  ask,  how  was  this  ?  I  will  attempt  to  show 
yoiu  The  men  of  that  age,  who  had  thought  at  all 
upon  the  subject  of  religion,  had,  as  I  before  mention- 
ed, proceeded  far  enough  to  know,  that  the  establish- 
ed idolatry  was  nothing  but  a  creature  of  the  state, 
and  therefore  they  easily  consented  to  support,  while 
they  believed  it  utterly  false.  They  thought  it  the  duty 
of  every  man  not  to  neglect  the  religion  of  his  coun- 
try ;  and  could  see  no  possible  harm  in  countenancing 
a  system  which  they  did  not  believe.  How  extraor- 
dinary, nay,  how  unacceptable  must  the  new  religion 
have  appeared  to  these  men,  a  religion  which  declar- 
ed their  idolatrous  conformity  a  crime,  which  was  ut- 
terly irreconcileabie  with  the  notion,  that  all  religions 
were  equally  indifferent,  or  equally  good,  and  which 
seemed  even  to  suspend  the  favour  of  God  and  their 
eternal  happiness  or  misery  on  their  reception  of  this 
new  system.  Surely  nothing  could  be  more  hostile  to 
their  latitudinarian  philosophy. 

Again,  though  some  of  their  sages  had  discovered 
much  solicitude  respecting  a  future  existence,  and 
many  of  them  eagerly  wished  for  instruction,  yet 
the  manner  in  which  immortality  was  brought  to 
light  in  the  christian  revelation,  coupled  as  it  was 
with  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and  rested  even 
on  the  resurrection  of  a  crucified  man,  seemed 
to  them  a  most  contemptible,  if  not  impious  ab- 
surdity. We  see  plainly  enough,  in  the  recep- 
tion of  Paul's  discourses  at  Athens  and  Corinth, 


20 


and  the  expressions  of  king  Agrippa  at  his  feri- 
al, that  the  christian  doctrine  of  a  future  life  was  no 
recommendation  of  the  new  religion  to  the  wits  and 
philosophers  of  that  disputatious  period. 

But  there  is  one  circumstance  resulting  from  the  very 
refinement  of  that  age,  which  it  is  impossible  the  chris- 
tian revelation  could  have  surmounted,  had  not  the 
hand  of  God  been  engaged  to  establish  it.    It  is  this. 
The  Greek  language  w  as  at  that  time  spoken  in  the 
utmost  purity  all  over  the  empire.   Eloquence  was  ev- 
ery where  cultivated,  and  immoderately  valued  ;  and 
nothing  could  command  the  attention  of  men  that  did 
not  come  recommended  with  the  graces  of  elocution 
and  style.   What  now  can  be  imagined  more  unfa- 
vourable to  the  success  of  the  apostles,  who  were 
rude  in  speech  and  utterly  unacquainted  with  the  arts 
'  of  popular  addresses,  than  such  a  polished  period  ? 
What !  those  men  to  overturn  the  systems  of  the 
world,  whose  language  was  so  idiomatical  that  Peter 
was  betrayed  by  it  even  to  one  of  his  own  country- 
women— men  who  were  Galileans,  w  ithout  any  of  the 
fashionable  science  of  the  times — men  humble  in  their 
aspect,  poor  in  condition,  fishermen  by  occupation,  per- 
secuted in  every  step  of  their  progress,  and  recommend- 
ing themselves  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans  by  profes- 
sing to  be  the  followers  of  one,  who  was  crucified  as  a 
v  malefactor  !  These,  then,  were  the  circumstances  un- 
der which  Christianity  made  such  progress  in  the 
world,  as  that  in  three  hundred  years  a  christian  em- 
perour  w  as  on  the  throne  of  the  Csesars. 


u 

My  friends,  if  you  have  viewed  this  subject  in  the 
light  that  I  do,  you  will  contemplate,  with  ever  in- 
creasing amazement,  the  establishment  of  Christianity, 
and  adore  the  power  of  God.  How  wonderful,  that 
the  state  of  the  world  was  such  as  to  make  that  the 
fittest  time  for  the  birth  of  Christ,  and  yet  the  most 
unfavourable,  in  all  human  probability,  to  the  success 
of  his  religion  !  Every  circumstance,  which  goes  to 
prove  the  necessity  of  revelation  at  that  moment, 
proves  also  the  utter  impossibility  of  establishing  it  by 
merely  human  means.  Nothing  but  facts  which  could 
not  be  denied,  miracles  which  could  not  be  resisted, 
and  a  supernatural  power  in  the  teachers  of  the  re- 
ligion, could  have  made  this  astonishing  change  in  the 
world. — I  know  not  w  hether  the  reasoning  in  this  dis- 
course be  new,  but  of  this  I  am  sure,  that  if  this  coun- 
sel or  this  work  had  been  of  men,  it  would  have  come 
to  nought.  Of  this  I  am  sure,  that  the  foolishness  of 
God  is  wiser,  and  the  weakness  of  God  is  stronger 
than  men.  I  see  not  only  the  fulness  of  time  in  the 
period  when  Jesus  appeared,  but  I  am  sure,  from  the 
unexampled  success  of  his  religion,  that  it  was  God 
who  sent  him  forth,  and  that  he  sent  forth  his  Son.  He 
asks  us,  my  friends,  w  hom  think  ye  that  I  am  ?  I  an 
swer  with  Peter,  thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the 
living  God, 


SERMON  II. 


JOHN  vii.  46. 

NEVER  MAN   SPAKE   LIKE   THIS  MAN. 

THE  excellence  of  the  gospel  is  so  distinguishing, 
and  the  evidences  of  its  divine  original  are  so  vari- 
ous, that  a  constant  study  of  it,  instead  of  diminishing 
our  interest,  or  shaking  our  faith,  tends  rather  to  as- 
tonish us  by  the  constant  increase  of  its  proofs,  and 
the  inexhaustible  abundance  of  its  motives.  True 
it  is,  that  a  mind,  which  comes  fresh  to  the  examina- 
tion of  Christianity,  and,  if  such  a  thing  is  possible, 
with  perfect  impartiality,  ought  first  to  ascertain  what 
is  called  the  external  evidence  of  the  gospel,  or,  in 
other  words,  the  credibility  and  authenticity  of  the 
historical  testimony  on  which  it  rests.  But  when  his 
conviction  from  this  source  is  sufficiently  established, 
and  in  this  regular  way,  let  the  inquirer  direct  his  at- 
tention to  what  is  called  its  internal  evidence,  such 
as  the  character  of  Christ  and  his  apostles,  the  na- 
ture of  his  instructions,  and  what  we  understand  in 
general  by  the  spirit  of  the  gospel.  In  this  way,  if 
he  is  an  inquirer  of  an  ingenuous  disposition,  and  of  a 


23 

heart  warmed  with  the  love  of  virtue,  he  will  love 
the  gospel  too  well  to  suffer  any  relicks  of  doubt  to 
disturb  him  ;  he  will  be  unable  to  reject  what  appears 
so  divine,  and  Avhat  he  finds  so  powerful,  or  to  think 
it  to  be  any  thing  else  than  what  he  wishes  it  to  be, — 
the  word  of  God. 

There  is  something  in  the  character  of  Jesus 
Christ,  which,  to  an  attentive  reader  of  his  history,  is 
of  more  force  than  all  the  weight  of  external  evidence 
to  prove  him  divine.  If  we  attempt  to  persuade  our- 
selves, that  there  is  nothing  superterrestrial  in  the  pic- 
ture, which,  with  so  much  simplicity  and  unlaboured 
consistency,  the  evangelists  have  given  of  our  Lord, 
this  question  rushes  upon  the  mind,  and  demands  an 
answer  :  How  was  it,  that  in  the  common  course  of  na- 
ture, in  one  of  the  most  corrupt  ages  of  the  world,  and 
in  an  obscure  corner  of  an  obscure  country,  a  perfect 
personage  or  model  of  the  moral  class  should  all  at 
once  start  up  before  the  admiration  of  mankind,  and 
nowr,  after  the  lapse  of  many  centuries,  as  well  as  then, 
remain  unrivalled,  and  almost  unapproached  ?  This  is 
a  phenomenon,  which  must  be  explained  before  any 
man  can  be  satisfied  with  the  rejection  of  divine  in- 
terposition. 

If,  to  relieve  ourselves  from  this  difficulty,  which 
no  man  who  thinks  will  fail  to  feel,  we  choose,  with  an 
absurd  distrust  of  all  history,  to  doubt  that  such  a 
personage  as  our  Lord  existed,  a  greater  difficulty 
meets  us  :  How,  if  the  original  did  not  exist,  did  four 
writers  like  the  evangelists  acquire,  without  inspire 


24 


tion,  the  idea  of  such  a  character,  and  transmit,  with 
such  harmonious  and  lively  colours,  the  picture  we 
have  of  Jesus  Christ.  The  imagination  of  any  man 
can  form  a  singular  combination  of  qualities,  a  char- 
acter merely  extraordinary  ;  but  if  four  men  conceiv- 
ed, at  the  same  time,  and  without  any  adequate  proto- 
type, such  a  character  as  is  confessedly  drawn  of  th« 
blessed  Jesus,  I  scruple  not  to  say  it  was  such  a  mir- 
acle of  genius,  as  neither  before  nor  since  had  a  par- 
allel in  the  recorded  history  of  the  human  mind. 

In  order  that  you  may  feel  the  argument,  which 
I  wish  now  to  set  before  you,  let  me  transport  you 
back  to  Judea,  and  place  you  in  the  audience  that 
were  listening  to  the  discourses  of  our  Saviour, 
recorded  in  that  chapter  of  St.  John  from  which  our 
text  is  taken. 

The  Pharisees  and  chief  priests,  enraged  at  the 
boldness  of  our  Saviour's  discourses,  and  jealous  of 
the  attention  which  he  appeared  to  excite,  order  some 
of  their  officers  to  apprehend  him.  The  officers  go 
forth  determined,  as  we  may  suppose,  to  obey  their 
superiors,  as  usual.  They  advance  toward  the  Son 
of  God,  then  in  the  midst  of  his  discourse.  They 
behold  a  man  standing  in  all  the  conscious  dignity  of 
independent  virtue,  full  of  grave  and  impressive  wis- 
dom, which  he  delivers  and  enforces  with  the  author- 
ity of  divine  power.  As  they  approach,  no  secret 
anxiety  betrays  itself  in  his  countenance.  In  his 
manner  they  discover  none  of  the  reserve  and  cun- 
ning of  imposture,  no  arts  to  gain  attention,  ho  soli- 


25 


citude  to  provoke  wonder  or  catch  applause,  none  of 
the  extravagancies  of  the  head  of  a  sect,  no  absurdi- 
ties, and  no  symptoms  of  concern  for  family  interest, 
or  personal  fame.  All  about  Jesus  of  Nazareth  is 
as  fair,  and  grand,  and  unaffected,  as  the  sun  in  his 
course  through  a  cloudless  sky.  He  appears  to  be 
the  delegate  of  Him,  who  sits  at  the  head  of  the  crea- 
tion, proposing  messages  of  love,  and  expressing,  in 
his  own  manner,  the  benevolent  designs  of  his  Fa- 
ther in  heaven  towards  this  perverse  nation.  They 
behold  him  affectionate  in  his  address,  sublime  in  his 
conceptions,  yet  fearless  in  his  manner,  meekly  con- 
scious that  God  was  with  him,  and  that  his  unbeliev- 
ing hearers  were  a  wicked  and  cruel  race,  who  would 
bring  upon  themselves  the  vengeance  of  the  Most 
High,  whose  prophet  they  rejected. 

The  rude  officers  are  arrested  at  the  sight  of  this  in- 
explicable  dignity,  and  an  unaccountable  awe  spreads 
itself  over  their  consciences.  They  feel,  as  if  they 
were  about  to  lay  unhallowed  hands  on  the  Son  of 
God,  or  the  inhabitant  of  some  other  world.  They 
stand  at  a  distance,  dwelling  on  his  looks  and  lan- 
guage, fixed  in  amazement.  They  return  to  their 
employers  without  their  prey.  Why  have  ye  not 
brought  him  ?  say  the  impatient  priests.  Never  man 
spake  like  this  man,  was  all  their  reply.  And  who  is 
this  wonderful  teacher,  my  friends  ?  The  Son  of 
the  humble  Mary  of  the  village  of  Nazareth. 

If,  christians,  there  should  be  produced  in  your 

minds  a  true  sense  of  the  dignitv  of  him,  whose  words 
4 


26 

.ind  appearance  arrested  these  officers  in  their  design, 
aud  if  you  should  feel  too,  that  such  a  character  can- 
not be  the  unaidejl  invention  of  the  four  evangelists, 
but  demands  a  real  original,  the  purpose  of  this  dis- 
course will  be  answered,  and  the  truth  of  the  charac- 
ter of  Jesus  will  be  substantiated. 

We  begin  with  this  preliminary,  if  the  history  of 
Jesus  Christ,  as  it  is  recorded  in  the  four  evangelists, 
is  substantially  true,  then  his  claims  to  divine  author- 
ity must  be  admitted,  for  God  was  with  him. 

Now  there  are  four  remarkable  circumstances  in 
the  description  of  our  Saviour,  as  it  is  left  us  in  the 
gospels,  which  sufficiently  show  the  reality  of  the  de- 
lineation, and,  of  consequence,  as  we  think,  the  divin- 
ity of  the  original ;  and  these  are  the  unexpectedness, 
the  originality,  the  sublimity,  and  the  consistency  of 
the  character. 

•  1.  The  unexpectedness  of  the  character,  which  Je- 
sus assumed.  You  will  understand  the  force  of  this 
consideration,  when  you  recollect,  and  bear  in  mind, 
what  the  Jews  had  long,  perhaps  always,  expected  in 
their  Messiah,  and  w  hat  they  found  in  Jesus.  They 
were  impatiently  looking  out  for  a  temporal  deliver- 
er ;  they  had  figured  to  themselves  a  leader  of  mag- 
nanimous spirit  and  celestial  power ;  they  hoped  to 
find  erected,  on  the  hill  of  Zion,  a  standard  of  revolt 
from  the  oppression  of  the  Romans,  under  the  imagin- 
ed king,  w  hom  they  had  clothed  in  robes  of  royalty, 
and  to  whom  they  had  given  ensigns  of  power.  Thus 
the  Magi,  at  the  birth  of  Jesus,  came  with  regal 


27 

presents,  and  the  populace  too  were  afterwards  ready 
to  conduct  him,  in  regal  triumph,  into  the  holy  city, 
and  crown  him  king  of  the  Jews.  Besides  this  gen- 
eral impatience  to  be  led  on,  under  the  banners  of  the 
Christ,  to  national  independence,  and  ultimately  to 
universal  empire,  they  were  continually  demanding 
some  sign  in  the  heavens,  which  they  expected. 
To  this  notion  of  the  Messiah,  which  was  unques- 
tionably the  prevailing  one,  they  were  led  by  a  too 
literal  interp*  tation  of  some  of  the  passages  in  their 
sacred  book  3  well  as  by  a  national  sentiment  of 
oppression.  f  was  the  expectation  of  some  mighty 
deliverer.  4  aat  time  to  appear,  confined  to  Ju- 
dea.  The  lour  was  prevalent  in  the  east.  It  was 
certainly  known  to  the  classical  historians  of  that 
age,  and  there  are  strong  reasons  for  believing,  that  it 
had  reached  the  Roman  emperour.* 

Now,  this  being  the  state  of  the  Jewish  minds  with 
regard  to  the  Messiah,  let  us  not  forget,  that  Mat- 
thew, Mark,  Luke  and  John  were  Jews,  who,  in 
addition  to  the  prejudices  of  their  nation,  were  ex- 
posed to  contracted  views  from  the  lowness  of  their 
origin  and  condition  in  life.  These  men,  however, 
undertake,  without  any  previous  advantage  that  we 
can  imagine,  to  give  us  the  history  and  show  the 
character  of  a  Messiah  in  every  respect  a  contrast  to 
the  expectations  of  their  nation,  and,  as  they  tell  us 
with  much  simplicity,  long  irreconcileable  to  their 
own  wishes  and  previous  opinion.    They  have  put 

*  See  Sermon  I. 


28 

us  indeed  in  full  possession  of  the  state  of  their  own 
minds  on  this  subject,  and  relate,  without  artifice,  the 
great  events  of  the  death  and  resurrection  of  our  Lord, 
which  alone  succeeded  at  last  to  correct  their  worldly 
mistakes. 

Now,  my  hearers,  I  do  not  ask,  whether  their  his- 
tory is  true  ;  but  I  do  ask,  how  it  could  ever  enter 
the  heads  of  four  bigoted  Jews  to  claim  for  Jesus, 
of  all  persons  in  the  world,  the  office  of  the  Messiah, 
if  such  a  person  had  not  existed  and  made  pretensions 
to  the  character,  and,  by  w  onderful  evidence,  which 
they  found  it  impossible  to  resist,  substantiated  his 
claim  to  this  singular  dignity. 

If  any  one  will  suppose  the  gospels  to  have  been 
written  after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  a  supposi- 
tion to  which  unbelievers  sometimes  resort,  to  avoid 
the  evidence  of  divinity  arising  from  our  Saviour's  pre- 
dictions, our  reasoning  remains  unaffected.    For  it  is 
still  more  unaccountable,  that  these  Jewish'authors  of 
the  gospels  should  represent  him  as  the  Messiah, 
whom  they  make  to  predict  the  very  overthrow, 
which  it  was  thought  he  would  prevent.  Whatever 
other  title  or  character  he  might,  on  account  of  his 
prophecies,  have  deserved,  still  to  declare  him  the  Mes- 
siah, that  proud  and  cherished  name  among  Jews,  was 
such  an  anomaly  in  the  history  of  a  Jew's  mind,  as 
must  have  appeared  little  short  of  madness  to  one  of 
his  own  nation  ;  and  is  a  phenomenon,  which  we  have 
a  right  to  have  explained  by  those,  who  seriously 
doubt  the  reality  of  the  character  of  Jesus, 


29 


You  perceive  then,  that  to  suppose  the  falsity  of 
the  gospel  story,  or  the  fictitiousness  of  the  character 
of  Jesus  Christ,  involves  an  unaccountable  phenom- 
enon in  the  Jewish  historians.  Allow  the  character 
to  have  existed  as  described,  and  the  difficulty  vanishes, 
for  the  evangelists  themselves  tell  us  of  all  their  pre- 
vious mistakes,  wishes  and  prejudices,  and  the  events 
which  produced  their  change  of  character  and  views. 

2.  The  second  mark  of  reality  and  truth,  and  con- 
sequently of  something  supernatural,  in  the  character 
of  Jesus,  is  its  confessed  originality. 

There  had  been  before,  in  the  Jewish  history,  a 
succession  of  prophets,  who  might  have  furnished  the 
evangelists  with  models  for  a  character,  if  they  had 
been  drawing  an  unreal,  or.  imaginary  portrait.  The 
heathen  world  too  had  been  favoured  with  eminent 
instructers ;  for  the  darkness  of  paganism  is  lighted 
up  with  the  rare  lustre  of  Zoroaster,  Pythagoras  and 
Socrates.  But  Jesus  does  not  appear  to  have  bor- 
rowed a  ray  from  these  lights.  He  travels  across 
this  galaxy  of  illustrious  men,  like  the  full  moon  in 
all  the  brightness  of  her  course,  with  a  lustre  totally 
unborrowed  from  them,  and  casting  their  feeble  and 
collected  light  into  distant  obscurity  by  the  mild,  yet 
overwhelming  power  of  his  rays. 

Moses  spake  always  like  the  mere  interpreter  of 
the  Most  High,  diffident  of  his  own  power,  and  not 
without  apprehensions  from  the  unfaithfulness  and 
inconstancy  of  the  people.  Jesus  speaks  always  with 
the  conscious  and  unhesitating  dignity  of  one,  who 


30 


had  the  spirit  without  measure,  who  eould  say  with- 
out douht  and  without  presumption,  I  and  my  father 
are  one.  The  preceding  prophets,  and  John  too,  the 
immediate  precursor  of  our  Lord,  had  passed  off  the 
stage  without  seeming  to  have  imagined,  that  the 
Jewish  peculiarity  would  ever  cease,  except  by  Ju- 
daism's becoming  the  religion  of  the  world.  Jesus, 
low  and  humble  as  he  was,  gentle  and  patient  as  he 
was,  comes  as  if  he  knew  that  he  was  to  consum- 
mate the  dispensations  of  the  Most  High,  as  if  he 
saw  the  innumerable  prejudices,  conniptions  and  su- 
perstitions of  his  nation  sinking  away  before  him,  and 
the  new  heavens  and  new  earth,  wherein  dwelleth 
righteousness,  descending  from  on  high.  Pointed  out, 
as  he  had  been,  by  all  that  preceded  him,  he  points  to 
no  one.  Verily,  I  say  unto  you,  there  hath  not  risen 
a  greater  prophet  than  John  the  Baptist ;  but  he  that 
is  least  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  greater  than  he. 
He  comes,  as  if  he  were  conscious,  that,  after  the 
accomplishment  of  his  mission,  he  was  to  sit  down  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  majesty  of  God,  angels,  and 
principalities,  and  powers  being  made  subject  to  him. 

His  manner  too  is  as  original  as  his  doctrine. 
Contrary  to  the  example  of  all  the  founders  of  Jew- 
ish sects,  he  comes  without  austerity,  and  without 
any  thing  of  that  shade  of  reserve  into  which  those 
instructers  withdraw,  who  think  themselves  oracular. 
To  the  great  astonishment  of  the  Jews  his  man- 
ners are  familiar,  yet  dignified  ;  to  the  inexpressible 
offence  of  his  friends,  he  associates  promiscuously 


31 


with  every  class  of  men ;  his  conversations,  while 
they  delight  and  instruct  his  honest  and  humhle  fol- 
io wers,  send  away  his  inquisitors  confounded  and 
unable  to  reply.  And  with  a  still  more  extraordina- 
ry assumption  of  greatness  and  independence,  this 
poor  Jew  from  the  village  of  Nazareth  denounces, 
without  fear,  and  in  the  very  seat  of  their  authority, 
the  scribes,  and  priests,  and  Pharisees,  all  that  was 
hypocritical,  however  sacred,  and  all  that  was  ini- 
quitous, however  powerful.  Still  more  striking,  anjl, 
as  it  seems,  unexampled,  was  the  air  of  authority, 
which  he  assumed  in  his  sermon  on  the  mount,  and 
in  the  performance  of  his  miracles.  Who  art  thou  ? 
say  they.  His  manner  seems  to  have  been  grand, 
impressive,  irresistible.  "  The  multitude,"  says  the 
evangelist,  u  were  astonished,  for  he  taught  them  as 
one  having  authority,  and  not  as  the  scribes." 

It  is  impossible  for  you  to  understand  this  wonder- 
ful originality  in  the  character  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
without  at  the  same  time  calling  to  mind  the  charac- 
ter of  the  nation  among  whom  he  appeared. 

They  were  a  people,  in  one  respect,  like  the  Hin- 
doos, all  whose  habits,  opinions,  and  even  movements, 
were  scrupulously  marked  out  by  law  or  by  tradi- 
tion. For  many  centuries  they  had  been  the  slaves 
of  a  rigid  ritual,  originally  adapted  indeed  to  their 
national  circumstances  and  character,  but  now  made 
narrower  by  traditionary  interpretations,  which  were 
esteemed  even  more  sacred  than  the  text  itself.  The 
Jew  s  of  our  Saviour's  time  were  a  priest-ridden,  for- 


mal,  and  hypocritical  nation,  and  proverbially  odious 
to  the  rest  of  the  world,  who,  though  not  wiser, 
were  the  slaves  of  a  different  superstition  and  of  differ- 
ent national  vices.  If  there  ever  was  a  community 
formed  to  reduce  all  minds  to  a  common  level  of  su- 
perstitious imbecility,  it  was  that  of  the  Jews.  The 
best  proof  of  this  assertion  is  to  be  found,  I  think,  in 
the  remaining  w  orks  of  the  Jewish  authors  of  that  age. 
The  reveries  of  the  Talmud,  which  are  a  collection  of 
Jewish  traditionary  interpolations,  are  unrivalled  in 
the  regions  of  absurdity.  The  works  of  Philo,  who 
flourished  about  the  same  time,  are  only  made  tolera- 
ble by  their  occasional  mysticism  after  the  fashion  of 
Plato,  w  hom  he  followed.  Josephus,  w  ho  was  rather  a 
Roman  than  a  Jew,  is  a  sensible  historian,  and  by  no 
means  a  fair  standard  of  the  state  of  Jewish  cultiva- 
tion, for  he  w  as  familiar  with  Greek  literature.  The 
evangelists,  though,  except  Luke,  uncultivated  men, 
all  w  rite  with  great  simplicity,  and,  what  is  truly  re- 
markable, without  any  mysticism  or  affectation.  But 
such  being  the  state  of  Jewish  cultivation,  think  only 
how  extraordinary,  in  such  a  nation  as  that,  must  a 
character  like  Jesus  have  appeared ;  sitting  down  to 
meat  without  washing,  where  the  ablutions  were  per- 
petual, and  of  religious  obligation ;  mingling  with- 
out reserve,  and  even  eating,  with  tax  gatherers  and 
gentiles,  whose  touch  the  Jews  considered  as  pollu- 
ting ;  and  in  all  his  discourses  preferring  mercy  to 
sacrifice,  and  obedience  of  the  moral  law  of  Grod  be- 
fore all  the  ceremonials  of  external  sanctity,  and  all 


33 


this  singularity  too  under  the  character  of  the  Mes- 
siah, the  darling  object  of  national  expectation  ! 

Now,  my  hearers,  I  again  ask,  how,  if  the  original 
did  not  exist,  could  such  a  character  as  this  have  en- 
tered into  the  imagination  of  a  Jew  of  that  day  ?  For 
let  it  be  constantly  remembered,  that  the  historians  of 
Christ  are  Jews,  by  birth,  by  education,  by  interest  ; 
and  that  such  persons  should  portray,  and  with 
commendation  too,  such  a  character  as  Jesus,  if  it 
did  not  exist,  is  more  wonderful  than  the  existence  of 
the  true,  the  divine  original.  Would  not  the  bare 
conception  of  such  a  character,  in  any  age,  have  been 
enough  to  immortalize  the  mind  that  formed  it  ? — But 
to  draw  such  a  character,  and  at  the  same  to  give  no 
intimation  of  any  effort  or  art  in  the  work ;  to  devise  it, 
and  discover  no  desire  to  attract  attention,  or  awaken 
admiration  of  the  writer  or  of  the  hero,  but  to  leave  it 
undecorated  to  make  its  own  impression — here,  here 
appear  the  power  and  ingenuousness  of  truth  !  My 
friends,  I  see  the  seal  of  God,  and  cannot  refuse  to 
exclaim  with  awe,  verily  there  is  something  more 
than  mortal  in  this  affair. 

3.  A  third  peculiarity  in  the  character  drawn  of 
Jesus,  in  the  gospels,  is  its  wonderful  sublimity.  As 
this  is  rather  a  matter  of  taste  and  feeling  than  a  point 
to  be  proved  by  facts,  I  shall  not  enter  into  a  very 
copious  illustration.  Reading  the  gospels,  as  we  do, 
from  our  childhood,  and  being  so  entirely  familiari- 
zed to  every  circumstance  in  our  Saviour's  life,  and 

every  word  recorded  of  him,  we  lose,  I  think,  much 
6 


too  often,  the  full  and  fresh  perception  of  those  marks 
of  moral  grandeur  of  which  his  history  is  full.  But 
to  those,  who  can  yet  feel  the  sentiment  of  the 
suhlime  in  character,  Ave  appeal.  What  simplicity, 
what  pathos,  what  greatness  is  there  in  the  por- 
trait of  the  Son  of  God  !  There  seems  to  he  at 
times  a  shade  of  melancholy  thrown  over  his  ap- 
pearance hy  the  fatal  certainty  of  his  approaching 
death,  which  heightens,  astonishingly,  the  effect  of  his 
supernatural  greatness  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  his 
tender  compassion  for  his  countrymen,  and  his  fa- 
miliarity, flowing  from  his  benevolence,  seem  to  relieve 
the  awe  of  his  more  than  human  endowments. 

He  controls  nature,  as  God  created  the  light,  with 
a  word.  To  the  waves,  he  says,  peace,  be  still — 
and  to  raise  a  dead  man  from  his  grave,  he  says  only, 
Lazarus,  come  forth  !  He  performs  the  most  stupen- 
dous miracles  without  emotion.  Every  one  who  sees 
them  is  lost  in  amazement ;  but  the  Son  of  God,  con- 
scious of  his  greatness,  and  unconcerned  about  his 
fame,  except  to  confine  it,  leaves  the  words  which  he 
littered,  and  the  miracles  which  he  wrought,  to  pro- 
duce their  own  proper  impression  on  the  mind  :  he 
deigns  not  to  draw  the  genuine  conclusions.  The 
most  sublime  of  all  the  portions  of  his  life,  is  its 
closing  hour.  His  greatness  in  his  sufferings  must 
be  felt  by  every  reader  of  sensibility,  and  no  language 
can  render  it  more  impressive  than  the  simple  record 
of  the  evangelists. 


35 


And  now,  my  friends,  if  the  evangelists  are  not 
the  conscientious  relators  of  facts,  how  have  they  at- 
tained to  these  touches  of  moral  greatness  ?  How,  in 
that  age  of  corrupt  literature  and  taste,  among  such  a 
race  of  babblers  and  triflers  as  the  Jews,  did  these 
unlearned  men  construct  such  a  story,  and  give  such  a 
moral  image,  sublime  beyond  the  conception  of  former 
ages,  clothed  only  in  the  unexaggerated  language  of 
facts  ?  Here  is  no  Plato  to  dress  up  the  discourses 
of  Jesus,  like  those  of  Socrates,  on  his  dying  bed  ; 
and  yet   the  discourses  of  our  Saviour  with  his 
disciples,  and  his  prayer  with  them  just  before 
his  death,  are  the  sublime  of  pathos  and  devotion. 
This  part  of  the  character  of  Jesus  owes  nothing  to 
his  historians.    They  do  not  carefully  point  us  to 
any  striking  traits  ;  they  hardly  make  a  reflection  for 
us,  or  discover  that  they  feel  themselves  a  sentiment 
of  admiration.    If  you  feel,  then,  my  hearers,  this 
sublimity  in  the  character,  it  is  because  it  really  ex- 
isted, not  because  the  evangelists  have  taken  pains  to 
display  it ;  it  is  because  you  see,  in  their  irregular  and 
inartificial  memoranda,  the  same  person  whom  the 

centurion  saw  expiring  on  the  cross,  when  he  cried 

out,  this  was  a  righteous  man,  this  .was  the  Sou 

of  God ! 

4.  The  fourth  trait,  which  we  proposed  to  contem- 
plate in  the  character  of  Jesus,  as  it  stands  in  the  gos- 
pels, is  its  consistency. 

To  understand  this,  you  must  follow  him,  from  the 
commencement  of  his  ministry,  through  the  various 


36 


changes  of  his  life.  There  is,  throughout,  the  same 
devotedness  to  God,  compassion  for  human  misery, 
contempt  of  malediction,  meekness,  self  denial, 
grandeur  and  solemn  tranquillity.  He  is  the  same 
great  and  gracious  being,  when  driven  in  fury  from 
his  native  city,  and  when  carried  in  triumph  by  the 
people  ;  when  giving  his  disciples  his  last  adieu  in 
private,  and  when  surrendered  by  the  baseness  of  a 
disciple  to  the  violence  of  the  rulers  and  the  tumult  of 
the  people ;  w  hen  expiring  on  the  cross,  and  when 
risen  in  all  the  plenitude  of  his  power  and  glory.  The 
great  object  of  his  life,  and  sufferings,  and  exaltation, 
seems  never  to  have  been  absent  from  his  mind.  Not 
a  syllable  escapes  him,  in  the  most  difficult  and  try- 
ing crisis  of  his  life,  unworthy  of  the  majesty  of  the 
Son  of  God,  or  of  the  tenderness  of  one,  who  felt  all 
our  infirmities,  and  learned  obedience  by  the  things 
which  he  suffered. 

The  more  we  think  of  this  subject,  the  more  aston- 
ishing we  shall  find  it,  and  the  more  difficult  to  pre- 
serve the  consistency  we  have  mentioned.  Here  is  a 
wonderful  contrast  of  powers — divine  greatness  and 
mortal  debility,  ignominy  and  glory,  suffering  and 
triumph,  the  servant  of  all  and  the  Lord  of  all,  Jesus 
expiring  and  Jesus  risen  and  triumphant.  Who 
would  undertake,  without  any  adequate  prototype,  to 
describe  a  consistent  character  out  of  these  incongru- 
ous elements  ?  Who  could  advance  a  step  in  such  a 
narrative  without  previous  instruction  ? 


37 


Think  how  difficult  it  is  to  preserve,  for  any  length 
of  time,  the  consistency  of  a  common  fictitious  delinea- 
tion. Suppose  the  character  is  taken  from  the  walks 
of  every- day  life,  to  make  a  natural  portrait  is  a 
mark  of  considerable  talent.  But  when  the  charac- 
ter is  extraordinary,  beyond  the  grasp  of  common 
minds,  when  the  events  are  mighty  and  unexampled, 
and  especially  where  supernatural  agency  makes  a 
part  of  the  narration,  then  the  preservation  of  consis- 
tency discovers  wonderful  superiority  of  invention. 
Great  geniuses  have  often  attempted  this  and  failed. 

Now  when  you  add  to  this,  that  the  history  of  Jesus 
is  the  work  not  of  one  writer,  but  of  four,  and  three 
of  these  obscure  and  illiterate,  and  one  of  them  confes- 
sedly writing  from  the  testimony  of  various  witnesses  ; 
when  you  consider,  that  each  of  them  contributes  dif- 
ferent portions  of  the  history,  and  yet  that  they  produce 
such  an  harmonious  whole,  as  the  character  of  Jesus 
Christ ;  if  you  suppose  that  they  did  not  copy,  and  mi- 
nutely too,  from  a  real  original,  that  they  did  not 
make  use  of  undeniable  facts,  the  work  rises  into  a 
miracle  of  human  genius.  It  is  impossible,  utterly 
impossible,  in  the  nature  of  the  human  mind,  that  any 
thing  but  truth  should  have  furnished  the  materials, 
the  substance  of  the  evangelical  narrative.  If  you 
deny,  or  doubt  this,  you  have  a  moral  phenomenon, 
and  an  historical  difficulty  more  unaccountable,  more 
prodigious,  more  incredible,  than  all  the  miracles  of 
the  gospel,  and  at  the  same  time  utterly  useless  and 
absurdly  anomalous  5  and  he  who  chooses  this  side  of 


38 

the  alternative;  knows  not  what  he  doth,  nor  whereof 
lie  affirmeth. 

What  we  have  said  on  these  four  points,  the 
unexpectedness,  originality,  sublimity  and  consisten- 
cy of  the  delineation  is  enough,  we  hope,  to  satisfy 
any  man,  who  will  meditate  on  the  subject,  that  this 
is  a  real  picture ;  and  if  Jesus  Christ  really  existed, 
as  the  evangelists  have  drawn  him,  I  leave  you  to 
judge  of  the  truth  of  that  declaration  at  the  com- 
mencement of  his  ministry,  this  is  my  beloved  Son, 
in  whom  I  am  well  pleased. 

What  remains  then,  but  to  exhort  you  to  some  prac- 
tical use  of  these  meditations. 

I  hope  you  are  among  those  advanced  christians, 
who,  after  having  satisfied  yourselves  of  the  historical 
truth  of  the  facts  in  Christianity,  because  you  thought 
it  a  duty  which  you  owed  to  truth,  are  now  able  to  re- 
pose on  your  original  conviction  ;  and  that  in  this 
state  your  faith  is  continually  strengthening  itself,  not 
merely  by  time  and  habit,  but  by  those  secret  and  ir- 
resistible influences,  which  flow  from  the  frequent  and 
diligent  reading  of  that  wonderful  collection  of  docu- 
ments relating  to  Jesus  Christ,  the  New  Testa- 
ment. To  dwell  upon  the  character  of  Jesus,  must 
be  the  delight  of  every  christian  who  has  any  desire 
to  grow  in  virtue,  and  surely  he  is  no  christian  who 
makes  no  progress. 

We  have  said,  that  the  kind  of  character  which  Je- 
sus exhibited  as  the  Messiah,  w  as  entirely  unexpect- 
ed to  his  nation.    Instead  of  using  his  miraculous 


39 


power  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  his  nation,  as 
their  deliverer  and  the  conqueror  of  the  world,  the 
Son  of  God  chose  rather  to  appear  as  the  son  of 
peace  and  consolation.  The  heart  of  man  was  the 
only  realm  which  he  aspired  to  rule  ;  and  it  was 
as  grateful  to  him  to  convert  the  publicans  and  sin- 
ners, as  it  would  have  been  to  receive  the  proud 
submission  of  a  prefect  or  an  emperour,  of  Herod 
or  Tiberius.  He  went  about  doing  good,  when  the 
impatient  Jews  were  tempting  him  to  aspire  to  the 
throne  of  David.  What  a  lesson  of  humility  is 
this  ;  and  what  can  more  clearly  show  the  unambi- 
tious and  holy  spirit  of  the  christian  religion,  than 
this  character  of  Christ  in  these  circumstances. 

Again,  what  an  original  character  was  that  of  Je- 
sus Christ.  How  little  w  as  it  modified  by  the  nation- 
al character  of  the  Jews,  and  how  perfectly  free  was  it 
from  any  of  the  debilitating  and  corrupting  influence 
of  general  example.  The  Son  of  God,  christians,  did 
not  fear  the  charge  of  singularity.  He  did  not  seek  fa- 
vour by  accommodating  himself  to  the  manners  and 
principles  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived.  He  did  not 
choose  to  conciliate  hypocrites,  nor  did  he  attempt  to 
secure  the  ruling  authorities  in  aid  of  his  designs  by 
falling  in  with  their  purposes.  He  dared  to  neglect  su- 
perstitions which  he  thought  vain,  and  men  w  hom  he 
thought  base,  and  to  honour  those  whom  the  wicked 
priests  and  elders  neglected  or  disdained.  He  felt  that 
freedom  from  the  common  thraldom  of  prejudice,  love 
^  popularity,  and  inveterate  custom,  which  the  con- 


40 


sciousness  of  pure  views,  of  fervent  and  rational  pie- 
ty, and  the  continual  anticipation  of  a  better  world 
will  give  you,  my  friends,  even  the  most  humble  of 
you,  if  you  will  make  the  trial. 

But  is  there  any  thing  to  be  learned,  you  will  say, 
from  the  sublimity  of  the  character,  which  is  so  much 
a  subject  of  taste  ?  Yes,  learn  from  it  this,  that  there 
is  nothing  truly  great  but  what  is  simple  and  un- 
affected. Sublimity  is  completely  destroyed  by  vani- 
ty and  ostentation.  Learn,  that  the  moral  grandeur  of 
independent  integrity  is  the  sublimest  thing  in  nature, 
before  which  the  pomp  of  eastern  magnificence  and 
the  splendour  of  conquest  are  odious  as  well  as  perish- 
able. 

Again,  from  the  consistency  of  the  Saviour's  char- 
acter, learn,  that  the  character  of  every  christian  must 
be  a  consistent,  a  uniform  one.  The  heavenly  spirit 
which  pervades  him  discovers  itself  in  all  his  visible  ac- 
tions. The  true-bred  pupil  of  Jesus  Christ  is  the  same 
in  prosperity  and  adversity,  in  ignominy  and  in  honour, 
in  weal  or  wo,  in  the  circle  of  admirers  and  friends 
and  under  the  calumnies  of  enemies,  in  publick  and 
in  his  closet,  in  the  full  flow  of  his  health  and  spirits 
and  in  the  cold  embraces  of  death. 

To  conclude — have  you  caught,  my  hearers,  any 
glimpses  of  Jesus  ?  If  you  believe  in  him  as  he  was, 
if  you  love  what  you  know  of  him,  and  imitate  what 
you  love,  and  study  to  know  more  and  more  of  his 
character,  you  will  see  that  he  was  in  the  Father,  and 
the  Father  in  him  ;  for  the  more  like  God,  the  perfec- 


tion  of  all  excellence,  you  become,  the  more  will  you 
feel  all  that  is  godlike  in  his  Son* 

Yet  this  wondrous  image  of  excellence  was  muti- 
lated by  men,  and  Jesus  died  by  the  hands  of  those 
whom  he  would  have  saved.  My  hearers,  it  was  to 
bring  us  to  that  state  of  light  and  privilege  which  we 
now  enjoy — nay  more,  it  was  to  effect  our  recovery 
and  pardon,  and  exalt  us  yet  higher  in  the  scale  of  be- 
ing— that  this  divine  character  was  humbled  even  unto 
the  ignominy  of  crucifixion.  Let  it  not  be  our  accu- 
sation, that  we  have  been  insensible  to  this  wonderful 
scene  of  majesty  and  infamy,  of  compassion  and  cru- 
elty. Enough,  enough,  that  we  have  ever  wavered. 
Thee  will  we  follow,  blessed  Jesus  ;  and  though  all 
should  be  offended  in  thee,  yet  will  we  never  be 
offended. 


6 


SERMON  III. 


PSALM  cxix.  71. 

IT    IS   GOOD   FOR  JttE,   THAT   I   HAVE   BEEN  AFFLICTED. 

THIS  acknowledgement  is  from  the  pen  of  Da- 
vid, the  monarch  of  Israel,  whose  life  was  chequered 
with  all  the  varieties  of  prosperous  and  adverse 
fortune  ;  and  happy  should  we  pronounce  any  man, 
whose  sufferings,  though  less  various  and  severe,  have 
enabled  him  to  repeat  with  equal  sincerity,  it  is  good 
for  me,  that  I  have  been  afflicted. 

Little  did  I  imagine,  my  christian  friends — when 
I  last  stood  in  this  desk  of  sacred  instruction,  listen- 
ing to  the  solemn  counsels  of  those,  who  were  conven- 
ed to  sanction  our  mutual  relation,  and  joyfully  ac- 
cepting the  proffered  fellowship  and  tender  congrat- 
ulations of  my  elder  brethren — little  did  I  imagine, 
that  the  cold  hand  of  disease  would  so  soon  chill  the 
ardour  of  my  expectations,  and  cripple  the  vigour 
with  which  I  hoped  to  enter  on  the  duties,  in  which 
I  should  need  so  much  aid  from  Heaven  and  so  much 
indulgence  from  you.    But  our  times  are  in  (rod's 


43 


hand.  The  course  of  Providence  cannot  be  hastened 
by  our  precipitancy  ;  nor  the  decrees  of  Heaven  ex- 
plored by  our  curiosity,  or  accommodated  to  our  wish- 
es. But  the  religion  we  profess,  my  friends,  forbids 
us  to  suffer  disappointment  to  damp  the  liveliness  of 
our  confidence  in  our  Father  who  is  in  Heaven,  or 
to  awaken  even  a  sentiment,  much  less  to  call  forth  an 
expression,  of  fretfulness,  impatience  or  distrust ;  and 
though  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  human  nature  to  look 
at  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  affliction  with  equal 
pleasure,  and  to  feel  the  approach  and  the  departure 
of  pain  with  equal  gratitude,  still  we  can  at  least  be- 
lieve, and  believing  we  shall  confess,  that  the  hand 
of  God  is  guided  in  both  by  equal  goodness  :  we  can 
at  least  avoid  despising  the  chastening,  or  fainting 
under  the  rebuke. 

But  this  is  not  the  place  to  talk  of  ourselves,  or  of 
our  sufferings.  Permit  me  only  to  observe,  that  I 
have  been  induced  to  defer  to  some  future  day  the  ap- 
propriate discourses,  which  are  usually  expected  from 
a  pastor  newly  inducted,  that  I  may  direct  your  present 
attention  to  a  subject,  which  you  will  easily  perceive 
my  late  confinement  has  suggested  to  my  thoughts. 
And  if,  by  seizing  the  moments  when  my  own  reflec- 
tions are  most  copious  and  warm,  and  my  own  recol- 
lections most  vivid,  I  should  be  able,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  to  impress  on  the  mind  of  a  single  hearer  the 
benefits  of  pain  or  sickness,  or  teach  him  to  endure 
with  fortitude  and  advantage  the  chastisements  of 
Heaven,  I  shall  bless  the  present  occasion  and  say 


44 

with  additional  pleasure,  it  is  good  for  you  also,  that  I 
have  been  afflicted. 

The  discipline  of  Providence  is  as  various,  as  are 
the  characters  and  circumstances  of  men.  Every 
thing  which  occurs  to  us  in  this  life  is  probationary. 
Calamities,  though  they  may  wear  the  guise  of  pun- 
ishments, are  never  administered  solely  for  the  sake 
of  punishment,  but  of  correction  ;  and  what  we  call 
indiscriminately  fortunate  events,  and  thoughtlessly 
imagine  to  be  blessings,  are  never  dispensed  merely 
as  the  recompense,  but  rather  as  the  trials  of  our 
obedience. 

Of  all  the  various  forms,  which  affliction  assumes, 
the  most  common  is  that  of  sickness.  The  shafts  of 
disease  shoot  across  our  path  in  such  a  variety  of 
courses,  that  the  atmosphere  of  human  life  is  darken* 
ed  by  their  number,  and  the  escape  of  an  individual 
becomes  almost  miraculous.  Is  there  one  in  this  as- 
sembly, w  ho  has  reached  even  half  the  term  of  human 
life,  and  who  has  never  yet  trembled  at  the  approaches 
of  disease,  who  has  never  groaned  under  the  anguish 
of  pain,  who  has  never  sunk  helpless  under  the  secret 
and  imperceptible  operation  of  an  enfeebling  disorder ; 
one  on  whose  cheek  the  bloom  of  health  has  never 
faded,  whose  limbs  the  vigour  of  youth  has  at  no  time 
deserted,  the  energy  of  whose  mind  debility  has  at 
no  time  relaxed,  or  confinement  wasted  or  disabled  ? 
If  there  be  such  an  one,  who  of  you  will  venture  to 
say,  I  envy  that  man.  Let  us  grant,  indeed,  that  of 
all  the  temporal  gifts  of  God  health  is  the  most  pure, 


43 


valuable  and  desirable  ;  the  blessing  most  worthy  of 
the  petitions  of  the  good,  and  least  exposed  to  abuse 
by  the  corrupt.  Still  it  is  no  paradox  to  assert,  that 
the  loss  of  blessings  may  itself  prove  a  blessing,  that 
the  maladies  of  the  body  may  prove  medicines  of  the 
mind.  Though  that  complacency,  which  is  described 
as  the  attendant  of  a  healthful  and  vigorous  constitu- 
tion, may  be  the  maximum  of  corporeal  enjoyment,  yet 
we  may  venture  to  assert,  without  a  play  upon  words, 
that  such  uniform  freedom  from  the  infirmities  of  hu- 
manity may  gradually  generate  a  selfish  complacency 
and  confidence  in  health,  which  are  nearly  allied  to 
ignorance  of  our  own  frailty,  and  insensibility  to  the 
pains  and  sorrows  of  others.  The  man,  who  has 
never  yet  bowed  to  the  power  of  disease,  nor  felt  the 
restless  and  unmitigated  irritations  of  pain,  has  not  en- 
tered an  important  school  of  religious  discipline,  nor 
exercised  himself  in  the  ample  field  of  passive  virtues. 
Could  he  but  know  his  moral  wants,  he  would  even 
lament  the  absence  of  those  personal  trials,  which  are 
adapted  to  call  forth  the  highest  excellencies  of  the 
christian  character.  What  then  !  Do  we  say  that 
he,  whom  God  has  blessed  with  the  temperate  luxury 
of  uninterrupted  health,  has  not  reason  for  perpetual 
gratitude  ?  By  no  means.  We  say  only,  that  in  the 
assemblage  of  graces,  which  compose  the  character 
of  the  christian,  there  are  some  which  affliction  may 
improve  and  sickness  invigorate.  We  say  only,  that 
adversity  must  be  mingled  with  prosperity,  to  form 
the  most  perfect  character;  not  only  in  the  view  of 


4(5 

(xod,  but  in  the  estimation  of  society.  We  say  only, 
(hat  for  the  present  indeed,  though  no  chastisement 
appeareth  joyous  but  grievous,  nevertheless  it  yield- 
eth  afterwards  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness  to 
tii em,  who  have  been  exercised  thereby.  Therefore, 
my  brethren,  lift  up  the  hands  that  hang  down,  and 
strengthen  the  feeble  knees,  if  such  there  be  among 
us,  and  let  us  see  if  we  cannot  discover  some  roses 
on  the  cheek  of  disease,  some  intelligence  in  the  lan- 
guid eye  of  decaying  health,  and  hear  a  voice  of  in- 
struction even  from  the  still  chamber  of  the  sick. 

1.  In  the  first  place,  then,  the  secret  and  sudden  at- 
tacks, especially  of  those  acute  diseases,  whose  ap- 
proaches human  foresight  cannot  discern,  and  whose 
immediate  causes  human  wisdom  cannot  assign,  call 
the  attention  directly  and  forcibly  to  God.  Wherever 
we  can  discover  second  causes,  to  them  we  confine 
our  reasonings  with  a  kind  of  atheistical  short-sight- 
edness. This  calamity  we  attribute  to  our  own  im- 
prudence ;  and  that  to  the  negligence  of  others.  In 
one  instance  we  fatter  ourselves,  that  our  affliction 
comes  forth  from  the  dust ;  in  another,  that  our  trouble 
springs  out  of  the  ground.  Here,  we  think,  precau- 
tion w  ould  have  secured  us  ;  and  there  retreat  would 
have  effectually  removed  us  from  danger.  But  w  hen 
we  are  called  to  look  in  vain  for  the  origin  of  illness, 
when  even  the  physician  pauses  and  hesitates  to  assign 
a  reason,  w  hen  the  malady  which  walks  in  darkness 
enters  silent  and  noiseless,  and  the  hand  of  pain 
strikes  unseen  a  staggering  blow — then  it  is,  that  ex- 


±7 


perience  gives  no  consolation,  philosophy  is  confound- 
ed, art  is  baffled,  presumption  is  abashed,  security  is 
alarmed,  thoughtlessness  awakes  and  ponders — then  it 
is  recollected,  that  there  is  a  God  in  the  earth,  and 
the  sufferer  casts  himself  at  the  feet  of  Almighty  pow- 
er, saying,  it  is  the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  him 
good. 

Hence,  whenever  we  can  discover  the  immediate 
instrument,  the  proximate  cause  of  any  event,  on  this 
the  mind,  occupied  about  material  things,  reposes 
with  unthinking  satisfaction,  while  the  universal  and 
Almighty  agent  is  virtually  degraded  into  a  sluggish 
and  Epicurean  deity.  From  this  slumber  of  the  re- 
flections, which  is  apt  to  creep  at  times  upon  the  most 
pious  and  devout,  it  is  the  office  of  violent  and  sudden 
disease  to  awaken  us  ;  and  if  we  could  trace  no  further 
than  this  the  advantages  of  occasional  suffering,  we 
should  be  warranted  in  concluding,  that  it  is  good  for 
man  to  be  thus  afflicted. 

But  the  immediate  agency  of  God  in  whatever  be- 
fals  us,  is  only  one  of  many  truths,  which  severe 
affliction  revives  and  reimpresses. 

2.  A  second  benefit  of  sickness  is,  that  by  it  we  are 
reminded  of  the  uncertainty  of  temporal  enjoyments, 
and  the  consequent  folly  of  indulging  confident  ex- 
pectations, of  framing  magnificent  plans,  of  uttering 
sanguine  promises  and  cherishing  extravagant  desires. 
But  this  uncertainty,  you  will  say,  no  man  is  so  ab- 
surd as  to  deny  :  there  needs  no  messenger  of  wrath 
to  tell  us  this.    But,  believe,  me.  there  is  a  wide  differ- 


46 

ence  between  believing,  or  even  assenting  to  a  truth 
in  philosophy  or  morals,  and  being  the  subject  of  the 
experiment,  which  proves  it ;  between  gathering  in- 
struction, at  leisure,  from  the  disappointments  of  oth- 
ers, and  learning  it,  at  a  blow,  from  the  calamities 
which  fall  upon  ourselves.  It  is  one  thing  to  rise 
above  the  attractions  of  the  world,  in  our  chambers, 
by  the  aid  of  moralists  and  maxims,  meditation  and 
prayer ;  and  another  to  be  disciplined,  by  personal 
suffering,  till  we  learn  to  look  at  its  pleasures  with  an 
undazzled  eye,  and  hear  its  promises  with  an  in- 
credulous ear. 

There  are  some  truths,  whose  force  seems  to  be 
diminished  by  the  very  multitude  and  variety  of  the 
facts,  by  which  they  are  proved.  Thus  the  collect- 
ed experience  of  successive  generations,  the  observa- 
tion of  every  living  man,  and  the  solemn  and  multipli- 
ed declarations  of  scripture  have  been  conspiring,  ev- 
er since  the  world  was  made,  to  show  the  precarious- 
ness  of  human  enjoyments.  The  truth  is  so  evident, 
that  we  admit  and  forget  it  in  the  same  moment.  We 
want  some  objection  to  awaken  our  consideration, 
some  difficulty  to  call  out  our  attention.  Wearied  by 
their  repetition,  and  bewildered  by  their  multitude, 
we  feel  not  the  force  of  such  innumerable  proofs. 
But  when  God  in  his  mercy  interposes,  and  blasts  at 
once  the  confidence  of  our  expectations,  when  a  sick- 
ly wind  is  permitted  to  pass  over  our  luxuriant  hopes, 
and  they  are  gone — then  the  sinews  of  our  presump- 
tuousness  are  cut  in  a  moment,  and  the  proud  heart, 


49 


which  said,  "  I  shall  never  be  moved/'  drops  with  all 
its  purposes  and  plans,  promises  and  hopes ;  and 
what  volumes  failed  to  teach,  what  instructers  repeat- 
ed, and  example  exhibited  in  vain,  is  enstamped  for- 
ever on  the  mind  by  one  short,  probing  lesson  of  per- 
sonal suffering. 

3.  But  sickness  teaches  not  only  the  uncertain  ten- 
ure, but  discovers,  thirdly,  the  utter  vanity  and  unsat- 
isfactoriness  of  the  dearest  objects  of  human  pursuit. 
Introduce  into  the  chamber  of  a  sick  and  dying  man 
the  whole  pantheon  of  idols,  which  he  has  vainly 
worshipped — fame,  wealth,  pleasure,  beauty,  power. 
What  miserable  comforters  are  they  all !  Bind  that 
wreath  of  laurel  round  his  brow,  and  see  if  it  will  as- 
suage his  aching  temples.  Spread  before  him  the 
deeds  and  instruments,  which  prove  him  the  lord  of  in- 
numerable possessions,  and  see  if  you  can  beguile 
him  of  a  moment's  anguish ;  see  if  he  will  not  give 
you  up  those  barren  parchments  for  one  drop  of  cool 
water,  one  draught  of  pure  air.  Go,  tell  him,  when  a 
fever  rages  through  his  veins,  that  his  table  smokes 
with  luxuries,  and  that  the  wine  moveth  itself  aright 
and  giveth  its  colour  in  the  cup,  and  see  if  this  will 
calm  his  throbbing  pulse.  Tell  him,  as  he  lies  pros- 
trate, helpless  and  sinking  with  debility,  that  the  song 
and  dance  are  ready  to  begin,  and  that  all  without  him 
is  life,  alacrity  and  joy.  Nay  more,  place  in  his  mo- 
tionless hand  che  sceptre  of  a  mighty  empire,  and  see 
if  he  will  be  eager  to  grasp  it.    The  eye  of  Caesar 

could  not  gain  its  lustre  by  the  recollection,  that  its 
7 


50 


'•'bend  could  awe  the  world,"  nor  his  shaking  limbs  be 
quieted  by  remembering,  that  his  nod  had  commanded 
obedience  from  millions  of  slaves.  This,  my  friends, 
this  is  the  school,  in  which  our  desires  must  be  disci- 
plined, and  our  judgment  corrected.  The  man,  who 
from  such  dispensations  learns  nothing  but  perverse- 
ness,  must  be  fearfully  insensible.  Let  us  then  re- 
member, that  every  man,  at  what  he  supposes  his  best 
estate,  is  altogether  vanity.  God  grant  that  we  may 
understand  it,  before  others  are  called  to  learn  it  from 
our  graves,  or  to  read  it  upon  our  tombstones. 

But  if  sickness  puts  to  the  proof  these  worthless  ob- 
jects of  our  confidence,  it  ought  also  to  direct  us  to 
that  staff  which  cannot  be  broken.  Till  we  learn  to 
lean  on  an  Almighty  arm,  and  to  support  a  mind  vig- 
orous with  trust,  and  warm  with  devotion,  in  the  midst 
of  a  racked  and  decaying  frame,  the  work  of  sickness 
is  but  half  completed.  To  learn  the  emptiness  of  the 
w  orld,  is  to  learn  but  a  lesson  of  misanthropy,  if  it  do 
not  generate  and  awaken  that  confidence,  which  glad- 
ly casts  itself  on  God  alone.  When  affliction  has  had 
her  perfect  work,  we  shall  involuntarily  adopt  this  lan- 
guage of  a  pious  sufferer,  be  merciful  unto  me,  O 
God,  be  merciful  unto  me,  for  my  soul  trusteth  in 
thee  :  yea,  in  the  shadow  of  thy  wings  will  I  make 
my  refuge,  until  these  calamities  be  overpast.  I  will 
commit  my  soul  unto  thee,  as  unto  a  faithful  Creator. 

4.  Violent  diseases  show  us  also  our  dependence 
upon  one  another.  Man,  unaided  by  his  fellow  man, 
is  the  most  weak  and  helpless  of  animals.  Placed 


H 

beyond  the  reach  of  the  kind,  watchful.,  and  sympa- 
thetiek  aid  of  others,  his  first  malady  would  be  his 
last ;  and  the  lord  of  this  lower  world  would  sink 
under  the  first  blow,  which  should  strike  his  brittle 
tenement.  Take  the  most  proud  and  fiery  spirit, 
which  ever  animated  a  muscular  and  gigantick  frame, 
one  who  disdains  to  be  obliged,  and  spurns  alike  the 
control  and  the  assistance  of  others.  Stretch  him  on 
the  bed  of  sickness,  languishing,  faint  and  motionless. 
Where  now  is  that  surly  independence,  that  irritable 
haughtiness  of  soul  ?  Nay,  where  now  is  that  resist- 
less strength  of  limb,  that  mighty  bone  and  lofty  step  ? 
Has  it  come  to  this  ? — that  a  child  may  lead  so  un- 
traceable a  spirit ;  that  a  child  may  contend  with  that 
withered  arm  ? 

It  is  a  common  remark,  that  death  is  the  universal 
leveller.  The  same  is  true,  in  its  degree,  of  sickness. 
When  we  are  reduced  to  such  weakness  that  we  can- 
not help  ourselves,  we  find  that  many,  whom  we  de- 
spised, can  essentially  help  us.  We  find,  that  the 
meanest  of  our  species  can  lay  us  under  obligations, 
which  we  can  never  discharge.  We  find,  ourselves 
at  the  mercy  of  those,  on  whom,  if  we  have  ever  be- 
stowed a  thought,  Ave  have  been  accustomed  to  look 
down  with  pity  or  contempt.  But,  from  a  sick  bed, 
it  is  impossible  to  look  down  on  any  one.  On  the 
contrary,  I  appeal  to  you  who  have  ever  suffered, 
whether  you  have  not  sometimes  gazed  with  grateful 
admiration  at  the  patient,  condescending,  untired  offi- 
ces of  affectionate  fidelity  and  tender  watchfulness, 


which  have  at  once  ennobled  in  your  esteem  and  en- 
deared to  your  affections  the  humblest  of  your  species. 

But  it  is  the  tendency  of  sickness  not  only  to  reduce 
our  extravagant  self  estimation,  by  exhibiting  our  soli- 
tary helplessness,  but,  by  leading  our  friends  to  perform 
for  us  innumerable  and  nameless  offices  of  affection, 
it  confirms  and  fastens  forever  those  tender  ties,  which 
bind  us  to  each  other.  Often,  indeed,  has  a  severe  and 
tedious  confinement  added  new  strength  to  the  attach- 
ments of  consanguinity,  and  new  delicacy  to  the  bonds 
of  friendship.  Often,  in  the  chamber  of  the  sick,  a 
stern  temper  has  been  melted  to  forgiveness,  indiffer- 
ence has  ripened  into  love,  aversion  has  changed  into 
regard,  and  regard  mellowed  into  attachment. 

5.  It  is  the  tendency  of  sickness  to  intenerate  and 
soften  the  heart.  It  is  impossible  properly  to  com- 
miserate afflictions,  which  we  have  never  experien- 
ced, and  cannot  therefore  estimate.  Of  course,  every 
variety  of  suffering  aids  the  general  groAvth  of  com- 
passion. A  new  affliction  strings  a  new  chord  in  the 
heart,  which  responds  to  some  new  note  of  complaint 
within  the  wide  scale  of  human  woe.  Since  the  pains 
and  weaknesses  of  the  body  constitute  so  large  a  por- 
tion of  the  afflictions,  which  besiege  the  path  of  hu- 
man life,  who  of  you  is  unwilling  to  acquire,  even  by 
personal  suffering,  a  sympathy  for  the  exercise  of 
which  your  intercourse  with  mankind  will  present  in- 
numerable opportunities.  Mark  the  delight,  with 
which  the  afflicted  communicate  to  each  other  the  cir- 
cumstances of  their  common  woes.     It  is  an  enviable 


53 


eloquence,  which  they  only  feel  and  understand.  Hce 
with  what  facility  and  advantage  one,  who  has  endur- 
ed pain,  will  anticipate  the  wants  of  a  sick  compan- 
ion, and  administer  relief  or  whisper  cheering  conso- 
lations, while  another  is  standing  by,  who,  if  not  in- 
sensible, is  at  least  dumb  and  useless,  unable  to  com- 
fort, because  he  knows  not  how  to  commiserate. 
Whatever  he,  who  has  grown  callous  through  unin- 
terrupted prosperity,  and  presumptuous  by  perpetual 
health,  may  think  of  his  immunity  from  pain,  there  is 
a  satisfaction,  a  luxury  in  being  able  to  exclaim  with 
Paul,  that  sympathetick  apostle,  who  is  weak  and  I 
am  not  weak,  who  is  offended  and  I  burn  not. 

6.  Our  sixth  remark  on  the  benefit  of  sickness, 
though  the  most  common  yet  not  the  most  unimportant, 
is,  that  sickness  is  sometimes  necessary  to  teach  us 
the  value  of  health.  In  the  present  state  of  refined 
and  luxurious  society,  there  are  two  large  and  increas- 
ing descriptions  of  men,  to  whom  it  is  of  no  little  im- 
portance to  understand  the  real  value  of  health.  The 
first  is  the  numerous  class  of  imaginary  invalids,  who, 
though  subject  only  to  the  unavoidable  infirmities  of 
mortality,  create  to  themselves  a  host  of  fancied  ills, 
and  waste  a  really  healthful  life  in  perpetual  appre- 
hensions, ungrateful  complaints,  idle  precautions,  and 
uninterrupted  discontent.  It  is  well  known,  that  such 
men  never  felt  the  severity  of  serious  and  painful  ill- 
ness. A  single  rude  and  violent  attack  of  real  disor- 
der would  soon  shake  off  this  cluster  of  uneasinesses, 
and  put  to  flight  the  cowardly  tribe  of  imaginary- woes. 


34 


It  would  be  good  for  these  men,  to  be  afflicted  indeed. 
There  is,  however,  a  precisely  opposite  class,  com- 
posed of  the  presumptuous,  thoughtless  and  adventur- 
ous ;  men,  whom  age  has  not  yet  made  cautious,  nor 
adversity  wise.  Ignorant  of  the  value  of  a  blessing, 
which  to  youth  is  so  common,  they  delight  rashly 
to  expose  it,  and  insensibly  to  waste  it  away.  Af- 
ter experience  has  counselled,  friendship  intreated, 
and  authority  commanded  in  vain,  disease  comes 
at  last  and  closes  the  presumptuous  game,  and  teach- 
es them,  that  health,  strength  and  life,  though  they 
may  be  possessed  without  gratitude,  cannot  be  sport- 
ed with  without  loss,  or  won  .back  again  by  dexterity 
or  courage. 

It  is  the  distinguishing  mark  of  habitual  piety  to  be 
grateful  for  the  most  common  and  ordinary  blessings. 
There  is  no  man  so  insensible  and  vile,  as  not  to  feel  a 
glow  of  thankfulness  for  distinguishing  favours  or 
wonderful  interpositions.  But  sickness  discovers  the 
value  of  the  usual  and  customary  degree  of  health, 
and  reminds  the  convalescent,  that  he  has  scarcely 
thanked  God  for  a  blessing,  in  the  place  of  which 
nothing  can  be  substituted,  and  for  whose  recovery 
every  thing  but  innocence  may  justly  be  surrendered. 

7.  Lastly,  the  attacks  of  violent  disease  will 
teach  us,  if  we  are  not  absolutely  insensible,  a  most 
solemn  and  salutary  lesson,  which,  if  not  early  acquir- 
ed, may  be  useless,  because  the  next  experiment  may 
be  fatal.  We  shall  then  find,  that  the  hours  of  tor- 
turing pain  and  languishing  confinement  are  not  the 


55 


hours  most  favourable  to  quiet  reflection  and  pious 
thoughts.  We  shall  find,  that  the  mind  will  sympa- 
thize so  much  with  the  anguish  and  debility  of  the 
body,  that  it  will  be  too  feeble  to  expatiate,  or  too  dis- 
tracted to  fix  itself  in  meditation.  lieligious  contem- 
plations and  celestial  visions  do  not  necessarily  throng 
around  the  pillow,  which  supports  an  aching  head. 
In  one  word,  confinement  will  not  afford  you  that  lei- 
sure, which  you  want  and  which  you  expect,  to  think 
at  last  of  your  future  destination,  to  learn  the  truths 
you  have  neglected,  to  revive  those  you  have  forgotten, 
and  to  prepare  for  that  world  which  now  seems  near- 
er to  you  than  ever.  The  lessons,  which  affliction 
imparts,  she  leaves  to  be  considered,  when  health  is 
returning,  and  to  be  practised,  when  it  is  estab- 
lished. To  have  been  afflicted,  is  of  little  import- 
ance, if  no  time  remains  for  the  confirmation  of  our 
dispositions  and  the  establishment  of  better  habits. 
When  the  psalmist  observes,  it  is  good  for  me,  that  I 
have  been  afflicted,  he  does  not  mean,  that  the  mere 
suffering  of  pain  made  him  instantaneously  better, 
that  debility  and  distress  prepared  him  immediately 
to  leave  the  world,  that  affliction  led  him  necessarily 
and  directly  to  God.  Suppose,  what  is  not  improba- 
ble, that  during  his  distresses  he  was  exercised  with 
remorse,  and  melted  with  contrition.  Still,  unless 
his  penitence  had  been  so  deep,  that,  if  he  had  lived, 
it  would  have  exhibited  a  permanent  influence  by  con- 
firming his  piety  into  habit,  and  leading  him  to  a  sin- 
cere relinquishment  of  his  former  sins,  the  anguish  of  his 


56 


mind  would  have  been  morally  worth  little  more  than 
the  tortures  of  his  body  ;  and  the  royal  criminal,  if  he 
had  then  been  summoned  from  the  world,  would  have 
rushed  tarnished  and  impure  into  the  presence  of  his 
God,  though  he  might  have  gone  thither  from  a  bed  of 
sickness,  and  even  with  the  language  of  contrition  and 
confession  on  his  lips. 

We  heseech  you,  then,  do  not  mistake  us.  When 
we  discourse  to  you  of  the  beneficial  fruits  of  affliction, 
we  talk  of  no  secret  and  magical  power,  which  sick- 
ness possesses,  to  make  you  necessarily  and  immedi- 
ately wise  and  good  ;  but  we  speak  of  fruits,  which 
must  form,  and  swell,  and  ripen — fruits,  which  time 
must  mature  and  watchfulness  preserve.  We  repre- 
sent affliction  as  a  discipline,  which  you  must  live  to 
improve  ;  a  medicine,  whose  operation  cannot  be  as- 
certained, if  the  patient  dies  in  the  experiment.  O, 
defer  not,  then,  I  beseech  you,  defer  not  to  the  frantick 
hours  of  pain,  to  the  feverish  hours  of  disease,  to  the 
languishing  hours  of  confinement — defer  not  an  atten- 
tion to  the  things  which  concern  your  everlasting 
peace.  You  think,  they  will  be  hours  of  leisure.  Be- 
lieve me,  it  will  be  the  leisure  of  distraction  or  of  in- 
sensibility— it  may  be  the  leisure  of  death. 

I  have  thus  attempted  to  direct  your  attention  to 
some  of  the  numerous  benefits,  which  follow  from  af- 
fliction ;  benefits,  which  may  at  least  light  up  a  smile 
on  the  pale  and  gloomy  countenance  of  disease,  if  they 
cannot  invest  it  with  beauty  and  grace.    Permit  me 


57 


now  to  surest  a  few  reflections  naturally  connected 
with  the  subject. 

1.  In  the  first  place,  then,  if  all  the  natural  evils  of 
life,  pain,  sickness,  losses,  soitoavs,  dangers  and  dis- 
appointments, are  disciplinary  and  remedial,  it  follows, 
that  nothing  is  really  and  ultimately  calamitous  but 
sin.  Moral  evil  alone  mars  the  intellectual  works  of 
God.  While  this  remains,  pain  will  wave  over  us 
her  scourge  in  triumph,  and  disease  will  call  exult- 
tingly  upon  her  train  of  woes,  and  let  them  loose  to 
prey  on  fallen  man.  And  shall  we  willingly  harbour 
this  monster  of  the  rational  world  ?  Shall  we  throw 
open  our  hearts,  to  give  a  hospitable  shelter  to  this 
polluted  and  polluting  tenant  ?  Shall  we  roll  this  poi- 
son as  a  sweet  morsel  under  our  tongue,  and  then 
complain  of  the  salutary  sufferings,  which  are  neces- 
sary to  expel  it  from  our  system  ? 

2.  If  the  tendency  of  affliction  is  so  beneficial,  a 
stronger  motive  cannot  be  suggested  to  encourage  us 
to  support  pain  with  fortitude  and  patience,  and  all 
kinds  of  suffering  with  resignation  to  the  will  of  hea- 
ven. Other  considerations  indeed  there  are,  which 
may  have  their  weight  on  other  minds,  but  I  know  of 
none  at  once  so  intelligible,  so  rational  and  so  pious 
as  these  :  by  the  sadness  of  the  countenance  the  heart 
is  made  better ;  and  our  light  affliction,  which  is  but 
for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding 
and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  There  may,  indeed,  be 
found  minds  so  well  disciplined  in  piety,  and  so  far 

advanced  in  the  career  of  holiness,  as  to  acquiesce 
8 


58 


humbly  in  every  dispensation,  from  the  simple  consid- 
eration, that  it  proceeds  from  the  hand  of  an  Almigh- 
ty disposer.  But  I  conceive,  that  this  temper  of  un- 
alloyed suhmission  must  he  grounded  on  a  conviction, 
that  this  disposer  is  merciful,  that  his  chastisements 
are  parental,  and  his  designs  exclusively  benevolent 
and  pure  ;  so  that  the  perfection  of  resignation  is  noth- 
ing more  than  a  principle  ripened  into  a  habit ;  a 
principle,  which  was  originally  suggested  by  an  atten- 
tion to  the  established  tendency  of  affliction,  and  by 
conclusions  thence  formed  of  the  character  of  the  cor- 
rector, that  he  does  not  afflict  willingly,  nor  for  sor- 
row's sake  alone  grieve  the  children  of  men. 

Others,  however,  submit  unrepiningly  to  evils,  mere- 
ly because  they  are  inevitable.  This  is  a  spirit, 
which  is  often  dignified  with  the  name  of  philosoph- 
ical submission.  But,  Avhatever  it  may  possess  of 
philosophy,  it  has  little  of  piety,  for  it  is  at  best  a 
spurious  kind  of  resignation,  a  doubtful  virtue,  which 
might  be  recommended  with  equal  propriety,  and  from 
the  same  considerations,  under  the  government  of  a 
malignant  as  of  a  good  being ;  and  would,  indeed, 
be  peculiarly  accommodated  to  the  inhabitants  of  a 
world,  if  such  there  were,  whose  affairs  were  subject 
to  the  fluctuations  of  a  blind  chance,  or  bound  down 
by  an  invincible  and  physical  fatality. 

But,  my  christian  friends,  in  the.  enjoyment  of  that 
pure  light,  which  our  religion  throws  upon  the  char- 
acter of  God,  we  should  be  ashamed  to  recommend  to 
you  this  Stoical  principle.    Leave  such  cold-blooded 


5$ 


virtue  to  that  chilling  system  of  philosophy,  which 
sees  in  the  universe  no  design,  in  adversity  no  tenden- 
cy to  good,  in  futurity  no  gleams  of  hope,  and  in  hea- 
ven no  creator,  benefactor,  father  or  judge. 

From  the  view  of  affliction,  which  we  have  attempt- 
ed to  give  yon,  what  duties  result  ?  Consideration. 
In  the  day  of  adversity  consider.  Prayer.  Is  any 
among  you  afflicted,  let  him  pray  :  In  the  day  of  my 
trouble  I  will  call  upon  thee,  O  God,  for  thou  wilt  an- 
swer me.  Fortitude.  If  thou  faint  in  the  day  of  ad- 
versity, thy  strength  is  small.  Patience.  Patient  in 
your  tribulation,  possess  ye  your  souls,  and  let  pa- 
tience have  her  perfect  work.  And,  to  comprise  all 
these  virtues  in  a  single  word,  resignation.  The  cup, 
which  my  Father  hath  given  me,  shall  I  not  drink  it  ? 
Not  my  will,  O  God,  but  thine  be  done. 

The  reflection,  that  if  our  affliction  does  not  make 
us  better,  it  will  assuredly  make  us  worse,  is,  to  those 
who  have  recovered,  solemn,  and  full  of  awful  thought. 
To  grow  worse  under  the  discipline  of  Providence,  is 
the  most  deplorable  and  desperate  state,  into  which  a 
moral  being  can  sink.  In  the  time  of  his  distress  did 
he  trespass  yet  more  against  the  Lord  :  this  is  that 
king  Ahaz.  Believe  me,  this  is  no  chimerical  danger. 
The  fire,  which  does  not  melt,  will  harden  ;  the  stain, 
which  is  not  purified  by  the  furnace,  will  be  more 
deeply  engrained.  If  sickness,  for  instance,  have  not 
taught  us  the  vanity  of  some  of  our  dearest  pleasures, 
we  shall  only  return  to  them  with  appetites  sharpen- 
ed by  abstinence,  and  desires  rendered  more  ungov- 


60 

ernable  by  temporary  restraint.  If  it  has  not  im- 
pressed upon  us  also  the  uncertainty  of  health,  and 
prepared  us  better  for  the  loss  of  life,  it  has  probably 
increased  our  presumptuousness,  and  induced  us  to 
hope,  that  disease  has  now  discharged  his  quiver  of 
arrows,  and  that,  as  soon  as  our  wounds  are  healed, 
we  have  little  more  to  fear  from  this  dreaded  enemy 
in  our  passage  through  the  troubled  path  of  life.  If 
we  have  not  learned  resignation,  it  is  probable  we  have 
become  more  impatient,  discontented  and  irritable. 
If  we  have  learned  no  humility,  we  have  probably 
learned  perverseness,  and — what  is  still  more  to  be  la- 
mented, what  we  can  hardly  contemplate  without 
horrour — it  will  require  a  harder  blow  to  make  us  feel 
hereafter,  a  severer  chastisement  to  make  us  submit. 
And  who  shall  say,  whether  the  next  chastisement  shall 
be  inflicted  in  this  world,  or  in  another?  Who  will 
be  so  hardy  as  to  assure  us,  whether  it  shall  be  part  of 
the  discipline  of  this  state  of  probation,  or  a  portion  of 
the  sufferings  in  a  state  of  punishment  ? 

4.  Lastly,  if  there  is  any  one,  who,  despairing  of 
the  return  of  health  and  strength,  labours  under  the 
gradual  advances  of  an  incurable  disease,  to  such  an 
one  I  would  say,  it  may  be  good  even  for  you,  to  be  af- 
flicted. There  are  advantages  even  in  the  long  con- 
tinuance of  confinement,  and  in  the  prospect  of  inevi- 
table and  slowly  approaching  death.  To  him  who 
knows,  that  he  must  soon  close  his  eyes  on  this  pleas- 
ant scene,  it  is  no  small  preparation,  that  every  morn- 
ing's sun  rises  upon  his  sight  with  daily  diminishing 


61 


lustre,  luxuries  pall  gradually  upon  his  taste,  sounds 
die  away  gently  upon  his  ear,  and  the  ties,  which 
bind  him  to  earth,  weaken  by  degrees,  and  at  last  the 
silver  cord  is  loosed  with  gentle  hands,  without  pain- 
ful or  perceptible  disruption. 

Long  confinement,  also,  brings  with  it  the  advan- 
tages of  drawing  us  off  from  those  partialities,  which 
bind  us  to  society  in  general ;  and,  though  it  may 
strengthen  our  attachment  to  those,  who  watch  imme- 
diately around  our  bed,  and  are  the  inmates  of  our 
decaying  hours,  yet  even  here  the  energy  of  the  affec- 
tions wastes  with  the  energy  of  the  body,  and  tne 
dissolution  of  the  ties  of  love  and  friendship  is,  by 
the  kindness  of  Heaven,  rendered  as  gentle  as  the 
dissolution  of  the  soul  and  body.  Lengthened  illness,^ 
too,  not  only  draws  off  our  attention  gradually  from  a 
world  we  must  leave,  but  it  seems  to  usher  into  view, 
by  a  similar  and  solemn  gradation,  the  world  which 
we  are  about  to  enter.  It  places  us  in  an  extended 
and  narrow  vista,  in  which  the  various  objects  on  each 
side  are  excluded,  and  eternity,  that  vast  object  at  the 
termination  of  the  view,  seems  to  enlarge,  as  we  ap- 
proach it,  till  it  fills  at  last,  and  engrosses  the  concep- 
tions* 


SERMON  IV. 


LUKE  xiv.  18. 

AND   THEY    ALL    WITH    ONE     CONSENT    BEGAN     TO  MAKE 

EXCUSE. 

THIS  parable,  of  the  invitation  refused,  who  ever 
read  without  indignation  at  the  contemptuous  incivil- 
ity and  ingratitude  of  these  men  ?  A  nobleman,  we  are 
told,  on  the  marriage  of  his  son,  proclaims  his  intention 
of  making  a  liberal  entertainment.  Many  guests  are 
invited.  To  some,  we  may  suppose,  he  was  a  bene- 
factor ;  to  others,  a  friend  ;  to  all,  a  kind  and  conde- 
scending superiour.  At  the  hour  of  supper  his  ser- 
vants are  again  despatched  to  urge  their  coming,  to 
inform  them,  that  every  thing  is  ready,  and  that  he 
waits  only  their  arrival.  With  one  consent  they  be- 
gin to  excuse  themselves.  Without  any  expression 
of  regret,  they  all  find  other  engagements  of  business 
or  of  pleasure,  with  which  they  cannot  dispense.  One 
must  visit  his  farm,  another  must  attend  to  his  mer- 
chandize, and  a  third  is  detained  at  home  by  domes- 
tick  cares. 


63 


It  is  unnecessary  to  inform  you,  that  by  this  parable 
our  Saviour  represents  the  perverseness  and  prejudice, 
with  which  the  Jews  rejected  the  Messiah.  But  it  is 
also  true,  that  this  parable,  which  with  such  gentle 
remonstrance  exhibits  their  ingratitude,  holds  out  a 
faithful  picture  of  a  numerous  and  increasing  class  of 
men  within  the  pale  of  Christendom ;  and  those  upbraid- 
ing discourses,  which  ought  to  have  belonged  to  Jews 
only,  we  find  are  not  inapplicable  to  christians.  Do  you 
ask,  if  it  be  possible,  that  such  contemptuous  and  friv- 
ulous  excuses  are  still  offered  to  extenuate  neglect  of 
religion,  and  to  quiet  an  insulted  conscience  ?  Yes  ; 
they  are  yet  offered,  and  yet  admitted,  not  indeed  by 
God ;  seldom  indeed,  and  not  without  reluctance  by 
our  consciences  ;  but  easily  and  often  by  a  thoughtless 
and  indulgent  age.  In  the  time  of  our  Saviour,  they 
were  offered  to  excuse  the  rejection  of  the  Messiah ; 
now,  to  excuse  a  neglect  of  the  peculiar  duties  of  his 
religion,  even  where  its  truth  is  acknowledged.  The 
gospel  feast  is  still  open.  Religion  offers  her  repast 
of  pleasures,  unadulterated,  inexhaustible  and  immor- 
tal. The  master  of  the  feast  continues  to  send  forth 
his  servants  to  repeat  his  urgent  invitations,  to  ex- 
press his  unabated  good  will,  and  even  while  he  is 
waiting  to  welcome  us  to  his  presence,  we  still  ven- 
ture to  return  some  one  of  these  worthless  excuses, 
wrhieh  seem  to  have  served  even  to  the  present  day  as 
a  manual  of  apologies  for  irreligious  negligence. 

Let  us  then  take  a  rapid  review  of  the  excuses, 
which  are  offered  to  palliate  indifference  to  religion  ; 


6* 


let  us  see  if  their  importance  consists  not  rather  iu 
their  number,  than  in  their  strength.  The  profligate 
and  incorrigibly  wicked  seldom  offer  excuses  ;  those 
of  the  professed  infidel  demand  a  longer  and  closer 
attention,  than  the  limits  of  a  discourse  allow  ;  the  ex- 
cuses of  the  christian  world  only,  we  propose  now  to 
examine. 

1.  First,  then,  it  is  often  said,  that  time  is  wanted 
for  the  duties  of  religion.  The  calls  of  business,  the 
press  of  occupation,  the  cares  of  life,  will  not  suffer 
me,  says  one,  to  give  that  time  to  the  duties  of  piety, 
which  otherwise  I  would  gladly  bestow.  Say  you 
this  without  a  blush  ?  You  have  no  time,  then,  for  the 
especial  service  of  that  great  Being,  whose  goodness 
alone  has  drawn  out  to  its  present  length  your  cobweb 
thread  of  life  ;  whose  care  alone  has  continued  you  in 
possession  of  that  unseen  property,  which  you  call 
your  time.  You  have  no  time,  then,  to  devote  to  that 
great  Being,  on  whose  existence  the  existence  of  the 
universe  depends  ;  a  Being  so  great,  that  if  his  atten- 
tion could  for  an  instant  be  diverted,  you  fall  never 
again  to  rise  ;  if  his  promise  should  fail,  your  hopes, 
your  expectations  vanish  into  air ;  if  his  power  should 
be  weakened,  man,  angel,  nature  perishes. 

But,  let  me  ask,  by  what  right  do  you  involve  your- 
self in  this  multiplicity  of  cares  ?  Why  do  you  weave 
around  you  this  web  of  occupation,  and  then  com- 
plain, that  you  cannot  break  it  ?  Will  you  say,  that 
your  time  is  your  own,  and  that  you  have  a  right  to 
employ  it  in  the  manner  you  please  ?  Believe  me,  it 


65 


is  not  your  own.  It  belongs  to  God,  to  religion,  to 
mankind.  You  possess  not  an  hour,  to  which  one  of 
these  puts  not  in  a  preferable  claim ;  and  are  such 
claimants  to  be  dismissed  without  allotting  to  them  a 
moment  ? 

But  for  what  else  can  you  find  no  leisure  ?  Do  you 
find  none  for  amusement  ?  Or  is  amusement  itself  your 
occupation  ?  Perhaps  pleasure  is  the  pressing  busi- 
ness of  your  life  ;  perhaps  pleasure  stands  waiting  to 
catch  your  precious  moments  as  they  pass.  Do  you 
find  none  for  the  pursuit  of  curious  and  secular 
knowledge  ?  If  you  find  none  then  for  religion,  it  is 
perhaps  because  you  wish  to  find  none  ;  it  would  be, 
you  think,  a  tasteless  occupation,  an  insipid  enter- 
tainment. 

But  this  excuse  is  founded  on  a  most  erroneous  con- 
ception of  the  nature  of  religion.  It  is  supposed  to  be 
something,  which  interrupts  business,  which  wastes 
time,  and  interferes  with  all  the  pleasant  and  profita- 
ble pursuits  of  life.  It  is  supposed  to  be  something 
which  must  be  practised  apart  from  every  thing  else, 
a  distinct  profession,  a  peculiar  occupation.  The 
means  of  religion,  meditation,  reading  and  prayer  will 
and  ought,  indeed,  to  occupy  distinct  portions  of  our 
time.  But  religion  itself  demands  not  distinct  hours. 
Heligion  will  attend  you  not  as  a  troublesome,  but  as 
a  pleasant  and  useful  companion  in  every  proper  place, 
and  every  temperate  occupation  of  life.  It  will  follow 
you  to  the  warehouse  or  to  the  office  ;  it  will  retreat 

with  you  to  the  country,  it  will  dwell  with  you  in 
9 


66 


town ;  it  will  cross  the  seas,  or  travel  over  mountains, 
or  remain  with  you  at  home.  Without  your  consent, 
it  will  not  desert  you  in  prosperity,  or  forget  you  in 
adversity.  It  will  grow  up  with  you  in  youth,  and 
grow  old  with  you  in  age  ;  it  will  attend  you  w  ith 
peculiar  pleasure  to  the  hovels  of  the  poor,  or  the 
chamber  of  the  sick  ;  it  will  retire  with  you  to  your 
closet,  and  watch  by  your  bed,  or  walk  with  you  in 
gladsome  union  to  the  house  of  God  ;  it  will  follow 
you  beyond  the  confines  of  the  world,  and  dwell  with 
you  in  heaven  forever,  as  its  native  residence. 

2.  It  is  said,  am  I  not  as  good  as  others  ?  Why 
is  an  attention  to  religion,  an  unpopular  piety,  a  rigid 
virtue  required  of  me,  which  cannot  be  found  in  the 
circle  of  my  acquaintance,  or  in  the  world  at  large  ? 
Why  am  I  urged  to  set  up  as  a  reformer,  or  expose 
myself  to  the  scorn  of  mankind  ?  But  the  majority  of 
men  are  poor ;  does  this  however  cheek  the  ardour 
of  your  pursuit  of  w  ealth  ;  or  do  you  avoid  a  new  ac- 
quisition, because  you  fear  it  will  expose  you  to  the 
envy  of  your  inferiours  ?  The  majority  of  mankind 
are  ignorant ;  but  is  ignorance  therefore  honourable, 
or  is  learning  contemptible  or  invidious  ?  We  have 
now  supposed,  that  piety  and  unsullied  virtue  would 
sometimes  be  attended  with  scorn.  But  even  this  is 
an  unwarranted  supposition.  Piety  is  venerated  by 
the  impious.  Unyielding  virtue  is  admired  by  the 
corrupt,  disinterested  goodness  by  the  selfish,  tem- 
perance, chastity,  humanity  by  the  intemperate,  un- 
chaste, and  ambitious.    Consider,  too,  to  what  extrav- 


07 


agances  this  excuse  would  lead.  It  places  you  loose 
ly  floating  on  the  inconstant  tide  of  popular  manners. 
If  this  rises,  you  indeed  are  raised  ;  if  it  falls,  you  de- 
scend, however  imperceptibly,  on  its  surface.  It  is  an 
excuse,  which  might  be  offered  with  equal  propriety 
by  the  corrupt  inhabitant  of  Sodom,  as  by  you. 

3.  Again,  it  is  said,  religion  is  dull,  unsocial,  un- 
charitable, enthusiastick,  a  damper  of  human  joy,  a 
morose  intruder  upon  human  pleasure.  If  this  were 
true,  nothing  could  be  more  incongruous  than  the  par- 
able, which  represents  it  as  an  entertainment.  But 
if  this  be  the  character  of  religion,  it  is  surely  the 
very  reverse  of  what  we  should  suppose  it  to  be, 
and  the  reverse  indeed  of  what  it  ought  to  be- 
Perhaps,  in  your  distorted  vision,  you  have  mis- 
taken sobriety  for  dulness,  equanimity  for  morose- 
ness,  disinclination  to  bad  company  for  aversion 
to  society,  abhorrence  of  vice  for  uncharitableness, 
and  piety  for  enthusiasm.  No  doubt  at  the  table 
of  boisterous  intemperance,  religion,  if  she  were  ad- 
mitted as  a  guest,  would  wear  a  very  dull  countenance. 
In  a  revel  of  debauchery,  and  amidst  the  brisk  inter- 
change of  profanity  and  folly,  religion  might  appear 
indeed  a  dumb,  unsocial  intruder,  ignorant  of  the 
rhetorick  of  oaths  and  the  ornaments  of  obscenity. 
These  are  scenes,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  of  what 
is  falsely  called  pleasure,  in  which  religion,  if  em- 
bodied and  introduced,  would  be  as  unwelcome  a 
guest  as  the  emblematick  coffin,  which  the  Egyptians 
used  to  introduce  in  the  midst  of  their  entertainments. 


68 


From  .such  instances,  however,  to  accuse  religion  of 
being  unfriendly  to  the  enjoyment  of  life,  is  as  absurd 
as  to  interpret  unfavourably  the  silence  of  a  foreign- 
er, who  understands  not  a  word  of  our  language.  But 
as  long  as  intemperance  is  not  pleasure,  as  long  as 
profaneness,  impurity,  or  scandal  is  not  wit,  as  long 
as  excess  is  not  the  perfection  of  mirth,  as  long  as 
selfishness  is  not  the  surest  enjoyment,  and  as  long  as 
gratitude,  love,  reverence  and  resignation  are  not 
superstitious  affections,  so  long  religion  lays  not  an 
icy  hand  on  the  true  joys  of  life.  Without  her  all 
other  pleasures  become  tasteless,  and  at  last  painful. 
To  explain  to  you,  indeed,  how  much  she  exalts,  pu- 
rifies and  prolongs  the  pleasures  of  sense  and  imagi- 
nation, and  what  peculiar  sources  of  consolation, 
cheerfulness  and  contentment  she  opens  to  herself, 
would  lead  us  at  present  into  too  wide  a  range. 

4.  Excuses  for  irreligion  are  drawn  from  the  fail- 
ings and  imperfections  of  christians.  There,  says 
the  profligate,  are  your  boasted  saints.  They  have 
their  faults,  as  well  as  those  who  make  not  so  great 
pretensions  to  piety.  Thus  it  happens,  that  some  re- 
mains of  imperfection,  some  constitutional  infirmity, 
some  unamiable  weakness  of  good  men,  is  brought 
forward  and  exhibited  in  all  the  triumph  of  illiberali- 
ty  to  the  gaze  of  a  censorious  world.  The  character 
of  the  mind  is  drawn  from  a  single  trait,  from  some 
casual  wrinkle,  some  unlucky  deformity.  The  point, 
in  which  a  good  man  is  as  frail  as  others,  is  selected 
and  contemplated  with  renewed  pleasure,  while  those 


69 


points,  in  which  he  is  superiour  to  other  men,  are  un- 
observed or  unacknowledged.  This  is  partial,  un- 
just, uncharitable,  iniquitous.  But  the  excuse  clos- 
es not  here.  Of  what  religion  has  failed  to  remove, it 
is  most  absurdly  called  the  cause.  If  apparently  de- 
vout and  pious  habits  are  ever  found  associated  with  a 
temper,  which  is  not  open  as  day  to  melting  charity, 
it  is  religion  which  hardens  the  heart,  it  is  religion 
which  locks  the  coffers.  Whatever  passion  it  has 
failed  to  subdue,  or  whatever  fault  it  has  been  un- 
able to  prevent,  it  is  impiously  said  to  encourage* 
Equally  absurd  would  it  be,  to  attribute  the  weakness 
of  a  broken  bone  to  the  kind  attentions  of  the  sur- 
geon, the  pain  of  a  wound  to  the  balmy  hand  which 
would  assuage  it. 

But  of  all  the  faults  of  christians,  from  which  ex 
cuses  for  irreligion  are  drawn,  the  occasional  extrav- 
agances into  which  pious  men  have  fallen  afford  the 
most  plausible  apologies.  The  history  of  religion  is 
ransacked  for  instances  of  persecution,  of  austerities 
and  enthusiastick  irregularities,  and  when  they  are  all 
collected,  the  cold-hearted,  thoughtless  irreligionist 
exclaims,  these  are  the  fruits  of  piety  !  But  why  is  it 
never  considered,  that  the  same  ardent  temperament, 
the  same  energy  of  passions,  if  they  had  been  united 
with  any  other  subject,  would  have  rushed  into  simi- 
lar extremes  ?  In  a  mind  of  such  a  mould,  religion,  as 
is  often  said,  is  the  occasion  only,  not  the  cause  of  ex- 
travagance. When  enthusiasm,  however,  is  the  re- 
sult of  mere  ignorance,  as  it  most  commonly  is,  the 


70 


excuse  entirely  fails.  Ignorance  is  not  devotion,  nor 
the  mother  of  devotion,  zeal  is  not  religion,  enthu- 
siasm is  not  piety,  solitude  is  not  purity,  spiritual 
pride  is  not  conscious  innocence,  and  the  preternatu- 
ral heat  of  the  passions  is  not  the  warmth  of  love  to 
God  or  man.  You  would  not  judge  of  the  usual 
moisture  of  any  region  from  the  occasional  inunda- 
tion of  its  rivers.  The  influence  of  true  religion  is 
mild,  and  soft,  and  noiseless,  and  constant  as  the 
descent  of  the  evening  dew  on  the  tender  herbage, 
nourishing  and  refreshing  all  the  amiable  and  social 
virtues  ;  but  enthusiasm  is  violent,  sudden,  rattling 
as  a  summer  shower,  rooting  up  the  fairest  flowers, 
and  washing  away  the  richest  mould  in  the  pleasant 
garden  of  society. 

5.  Excuses  for  a  neglect  of  religion  are  suggested 
by  different  seasons  of  life.  Youth,  in  the  fulness  of 
its  spirits,  defers  it  to  the  sobriety  of  manhood  ;  man- 
hood, incumbered  with  cares,  defers  it  to  the  leisure  of 
old  age  ;  old  age,  weak  and  hesitating,  is  unable  to  en- 
ter on  an  untried  mode  of  life.  The  excuses  of  youth 
are  those  which  are  most  frequently  offered,  and 
most  easily  admitted.  The  restrictions  of  relig- 
ion, though  proper  enough  for  maturer  age,  are  too 
severe,  it  is  said,  for  this  frolicksome  and  gladsome 
period.  Its  consolations,  too,  they  do  not  want. 
Leave  them  to  prop  the  feeble  limbs  of  old  age,  or  to 
cheer  the  sinking  spirits  of  adversity.  False  and 
pernicious  maxim  !  As  if,  at  the  end  of  a  stated  num- 
ber of  years,  a  man  could  become  religious  in  a  mo- 


71 


mcnt !  As  if  the  husbandman,  at  the  end  of  summer, 
could  call  up  a  harvest  from  the  soil  which  he  had 
never  tilled  !  As  if  manhood,  too,  would  have  no  ex- 
cuses !  And  what  are  they  ?  That  he  has  grown  too 
old  to  amend.  That  his  parents  took  no  pains  with 
his  religious  education,  and  therefore  his  ignorance  is 
not  his  own  fault.  That  he  must  be  making  provis- 
ion for  old  age  5  and  the  pressure  of  cares  will  allow 
him  no  time  to  attend  to  the  evidences,  or  learn  the 
rules  of  religion.  Thus  life  is  spent  in  framing  apol- 
ogies, in  making  and  breaking  resolutions,  and  pro- 
tracting amendment,  till  death  places  his  cold  hand 
on  the  mouth  open  to  make  its  last  excuse,  and  one 
more  is  added  to  the  crowded  congregation  of  the 
dead. 

The  excuses,  which  we  have  already  considered, 
are  trifling,  how  ever,  compared  with  the  following. 

6.  It  is  said,  u  it  is  by  no  means  certain,  that  there 
is  a  future  state  of  retribution  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
w  orld.  Who  has  ever  seen  it  ?  It  is  not  certain,  that 
the  religion,  which  you  urge  us  to  embrace,  comes  from 
God.  Many  objections  may  be  made  to  its  evidences." 
Most  of  the  irreligion,  which  prevails  among  the  more 
informed  classes  of  society,  results  from  a  lurking 
skepticism,  which  infests  their  thoughts,  and,  in  rela- 
tion to  religion,  leads  them  to  act  in  direct  opposition 
to  all  the  maxims,  which  usually  govern  the  conduct 
of  men. 

It  is  indeed  true,  that  the  existence  of  a  future 
world  is  not  to  us  as  certain  as  the  existence  of  the 


73 

present ;  neither  can  we  ever  have  that  intuitive  as- 
surance of  the  being  of  a  God,  that  we  necessarily 
possess  of  our  own  existence  ;  neither  can  the  facts 
of  the  gospel  history,  w  hich  happened  two  thousand 
years  ago,  be  impressed  on  our  belief  with  that  undoubt- 
ing  conviction,  which  we  have  of  the  reality  of  scenes, 
w  hich  are  passing  immediately  before  our  eyes.  But 
the  question  is  not,  whether  the  gospel  history  can  be 
demonstrated.  Few  subjects  which  occupy  human 
contemplation  admit  strict  and  mathematical  proof. 
The  w  hole  life  of  man  is  but  a  perpetual  compari- 
son of  evidence,  and  balancing  of  probabilities.  And 
upon  the  supposition  that  religious  truths  are  only 
probable,  the  excuse  we  have  mentioned  will  not  re- 
lieve irreligion  from  the  charge  of  presumptuous  and 
consummate  folly. 

But  it  is  said,  many  objections  have  been  made  to 
the  evidences  of  revelation  ;  and  many  of  its  difficul- 
ties remain  yet  unexplained.  It  is  true,  that  objec- 
tions have  been  often  made  and  often  answered,  and 
not  only  answered,  but  refuted.  But  some  difficulties, 
it  is  said,  yet  remain.  It  is  true,  they  do  remain  ;  and 
the  excuse  shall  be  admitted,  when  any  other  subject 
of  equal  importance  shall  be  produced,  in  which  diffi- 
culties do  not  remain.  The  most  plausible  objections, 
which  have  been  made  to  any  truth  within  the  circle 
of  human  knowledge,  are  those  which  have  been  offer- 
ed against  the  existence  of  a  material  world  ;  but  did 
this  ever  check  an  operation  in  mechanics,  or  excuse, 
from  his  daily  task  a  single  labourer.    A  man  of  in- 


73 


genuity  might  offer  a  thousand  objections  against  the 
probability  of  your  living  till  the  morrow,  but  would 
this  rob  you  of  a  moment's  rest,  or  frustrate  a  single 
plan,  which  you  had  meditated  for  the  approaching 
day  ?  If  we  subtract  from  the  difficulties,  which  attend 
revelation,  those  which  have  been  created  by  the  inju- 
dicious zeal  of  some  of  its  friends  in  attempting  to 
prove  too  much,  we  shall  find,  that,  in  the  vast  store- 
house of  facts  which  history  presents,  for  none  can 
there  be  produced  a  greater  mass  of  evidence  than  for 
the  birth,  the  death  and  resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ — 
and  upon  the  supposition  of  their  truth  irreligion  is 
nothing  better  than  distraction. 

Another  excuse,  however,  is  offered,  which  perhaps 
has  greater  secret  influence  in  quieting  the  conscience 
than  any  other.     We  are  desired  to  look  at  the 
list  of  great  names,  who  have  been  adversaries  of 
Christianity.    Can  that  evidence,  it  is  asked,  be  satis- 
factory, which  failed  to  convince  such  minds  as  these  ? 
If  the  probable  truth  of  revelation  is  to  be  ascertain- 
ed in  this  manner,  the  dispute  will  soon  be  at  an 
end ;  for  it  would  be  no  difficult  task  to  produce, 
from  among  the  friends  of  revelation,  a  greater  num- 
ber of  greater  names  within  the  last  hundred  years, 
than  all  the  hosts  of  infidelity  can  furnish  in  eighteen 
centuries  since  the  birth  of  Christ.    But  I  believe 
these  instances  are  not  alleged  to  disprove  the  truth, 
but  only  to  weaken  the  importance  of  Christianity. 
They  are  alleged  only  to  excuse  an  inattention  to  re- 
ligion, and  show  that  it  is  not  very  dangerous  to  err 
10 


74 


a>  ith  such  great  names  on  our  side.  Truths,  it  is  said, 
which  such  understandings  disbelieved,  surely  cannot 
be  of  infinite  importance.  Nothing  would  tend  more 
to  remove  such  apologies,  than  a  fair,  impartial,  and 
full  account  of  the  education,  the  characters,  the  intel- 
lectual processes,  and  the  dying  moments  of  such  men. 
Then  it  would  be  seen,  that  their  virtues  were  the  re- 
sult of  the  very  principles  they  had  assailed,  but 
from  whose  influence  they  were  unable  wholly  to  es- 
cape. Then  it  would  be  seen,  that  they  have  gained 
by  their  skepticism  no  new  pleasures,  no  tranquillity 
of  mind,  no  peace  of  conscience  during  life,  and  no 
consolation  in  the  hour  of  death. 

Such  are  the  excuses  which  irreligion  offers.  Could 
you  have  believed,  that  they  were  so  empty,  so  unwor- 
thy, so  hollow,  so  absurd  ?  And  shall  such  excuses 
be  offered  to  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth  ?  Bv  such 

m 

apologies  shall  man  insult  his  Creator  ?  Shall  he  hope 
to  flatter  the  ear  of  omnipotence,  and  beguile  the  ob- 
servation of  an  omniscient  spirit  ?  Think  you  that 
such  excuses  will  gain  new  importance  in  their  ascent 
to  the  throne  of  the  Majesty  on  high  ?  Will  you 
trust  the  interests  of  eternity  in  the  hands  of  these  su- 
perficial advocates  ?  You  have  pleaded  your  incessant 
occupation.  Exhibit  then  the  result  of  your  employ- 
ment. Have  you  nothing  to  produce  but  these  bags 
of  gold,  these  palaces,  and  farms,  these  bundles  of 
cares,  and  heaps  of  vexations?  Is  the  eye  of  Heaven 
to  be  dazzled  by  an  exhibition  of  property,  an  osten- 
tatious shew  of  treasures  ?  You  surely  produce  not 


To 

all  these  wasted  hours,  to  prove  that  you  have  had  no 
time  for  religion.  It  is  an  insult  to  the  Majesty  of 
Heaven.  Again,  you  have  pleaded  your  youth,  and 
you  have  pleaded  your  age.  Which  of  these  do  you 
choose  to  maintain  at  the  har  of  Heaven  ?  Such  tri- 
fling would  not  be  admitted  in  the  intercourse  of  men, 
and  do  you  think  it  will  avail  more  with  Almighty 
God? 

It  must  however  he  acknowledged,  that  the  case 
of  the  irreligious  is  not  desperate,  while  excuses  are 
thought  proper  and  necessary.  There  is  some  glim- 
mering of  hope,  that  the  man  who  apologizes  is  willing 
to  amend.  God  preserve  us  from  that  obduracy  of 
wickedness,  which  disdains  to  palliate  a  crime  ;  from 
that  hardihood  of  unbelief,  which  will  not  give  even  a 
weak  reason,  and  which  derides  the  oiler  of  an  ex- 
cuse. But  remember,  my  friends,  the  season  of  apol- 
ogies is  passing  away.  All  our  eloquent  defences  of 
ourselves  must  soon  cease.  Heath  stiffens  the  smooth 
tongue  of  flattery,  and  blots  out,  with  one  stroke,  all 
the  ingenious  excuses,  which  we  have  spent  our  lives 
in  framing.  At  the  marriage  supper,  the  places  of 
those  who  refused  to  come,  were  soon  filled  by  a  mul- 
titude of  delighted  guests.  The  God  of  Heaven  needs 
not  our  presence  to  adorn  his  table,  for  whether  we  ac- 
cept, or  whether  we  reject  his  gracious  invitation, 
whether  those  who  were  bidden  taste  or  not  of  his 
supper,  his  house  shall  be  filled.  Though  many  are 
called  and  few  chosen,  yet  Christ  has  not  died  in  vain, 
religion  is  not  without  its  witnesses,  or  heaven  with- 


76 

out  its  inhabitants.  Let  us  then  remember,  that  one 
tiling  is  needful,  and  that  there  is  a  better  part  than 
all  the  pleasures  and  selfish  pursuits  of  th.s  world,  a 
part  which  we  are  encouraged  to  secure,  and  which 
can  never  be  taken  away. 


SERMON  V. 


JOHN  xii.  43. 

FOR  THEY   LOVED   THE  PRAISE   OF    MEN  MORE   THAN  THE 
PRAISE   OF  SOD. 

IT  is  one  of  the  distinguishing  traits  in  the  chris- 
tian scheme  of  morals,  that  it  no  where  enjoins  the  love 
of  human  estimation,  as  a  principle  of  action.  Very 
rarely  is  the  approbation  even  of  good  men,  much  less 
the  applause  of  the  many,  mentioned  as  a  desirable 
reward  of  good  deeds.  But  if  we  only  turn  from  the 
discipline  and  the  precepts  of  the  gospel  to  the  sys- 
tems of  ancient  and  of  modern  education,  what  pro- 
digious importance  is  given  to  a  motive,  of  which,  in 
the  precepts  of  our  Saviour,  there  cannot  be  found  the 
trace  of  commendation.  By  the  hope  of  honour  and 
the  fear  of  shame  is  many  a  child  governed,  many  a 
school  regulated,  many  a  capacity  exercised,  and 
many  a  mature  character  affected  and  modified.  So 
little  has  the  real  value  of  this  principle  been  fairly 
weighed,  that  the  love  of  human  estimation  is  tender- 
ly fostered  in  the  infant,  as  soon  as  it  is  capable  of  at- 
tending to  the  opinions  of  those  about  it  $  and  the  anx- 


78 


ious  parent  never  feels  more  delight,  than  upon  per- 
ceiving the  first  pulse  of  ambition  to  beat  in  the  heart 
of  the  child.  The  love  of  fame,  thus  early  encoura- 
ged, has  been  called  by  one  of  the  most  sober  of  our 
satirists,  the  universal  passion.  By  some  moralists  it 
has  been  recommended  generally,  as  the  spring  of  all 
that  is  great  and  glorious  in  character ;  by  others  it  is 
restricted  to  particular  spheres  of  action,  and  cautious- 
ly directed  to  certain  valuable  objects  ;  by  others  it  is 
discountenanced  only  w  hen  it  rises  to  a  ridiculous  ex- 
cess ;  but  by  the  great  moralist  of  the  gospel  it  is  pas- 
sed over  in  silence,  or  mentioned  only  to  be  depreci- 
ated. 

Let  us,  then,  look  narrowly  into  this  principle, 
w  hich  insinuates  itself  so  early,  and  with  such  honour- 
able pretensions,  w  hich  spreads  through  such  a  variety 
of  character,  which  domineers  w  ith  such  authority,  al- 
ways in  the  weak,  sometimes  in  the  wise,  always  in 
the  worldly,  and  too  often  in  the  saint.  In  this  dis- 
course wre  propose  to  consider,  first,  the  nature  of  this 
passion,  and  some  of  the  varieties  of  its  operation  ; 
secondly,  we  shall  endeavour  candidly  to  acknowl- 
edge all  its  real  utility  as  a  motive  of  action  ;  third- 
ly, we  shall  mark  out  some  of  those  limits  within 
which  it  ought  to  be  restrained  ;  and  fourthly,  sug- 
gest some  considerations  by  which  its  influence  on 
our  own  hearts  may  be  diminished. 

1.  Let  us  attend  to  the  nature  of  this  passion,  and 
the  different  modes  in  w  hich  it  discovers  itself.  By 
the  love  of  human  estimation  we  mean  every  degree 


79 


of  regard  to  the  opinion  of  the  world,  from  the  passion 
of  glory,  which  mounts  up  into  the  fancy  of  the  con- 
queror, to  the  dread  of  shame,  which  endeavours  to 
hide  itself  in  the  heart  of  the  coward.  In  some  or  oth- 
er of  its  various  modifications,  it  is  perhaps  inseparahle 
from  man  as  a  social  heing.  Besides  the  immense  do- 
main in  which  it  exerts  itself,  its  very  entrance  into 
the  heart  is  the  most  insinuating  and  honourable.  To 
know  what  others  think  of  us,  is  one  of  the  earliest  em- 
ployments of  our  curiosity.  It  is  discovered  in  chil- 
dren, as  soon  as  they  begin  to  mix  with  their  fellows. 
Then  appear  the  little  struggles  for  eminence,  and  the 
jealousy  of  attentions  paid  to  others.  Presently,  the 
heart,  unsatisfied  with  love,  looks  out  for  applause  ; 
the  eye  begins  to  sparkle  with  the  pride  of  dress,  the 
ear  is  pampered  with  flatteries  of  foolish  friends,  and 
expressions  of  injudicious  praise  which  fall  even 
from  the  lips  of  the  wise,  so  that  the  desire  of  admira- 
tion grows  even  under  the  caresses  of  the  parent. 
Soon  comes  the  age  of  instruction.  At  the  lap  of  the 
mistress,  the  little  pupil  is  almost  taught  to  speak  by 
the  love  of  distinction  ;  and  from  this  time  forward  the 
whole  system  of  education  is  constructed  on  the  ap- 
plication of  this  equivocal  principle.  All  our  arts  of 
dicipline,  and  all  our  schemes  of  tuition  are  calculated 
to  excite  instead  of  regulating  emulation.  If  we  can 
but  make  this  passion  effervesce  in  the  youthful  breast, 
our  hopes  brighten  and  our  care  is  rewarded.  Pres- 
ently, it  begins  to  break  out  in  vanity,  which  we 
mistake  for  knowledge  ;  in  garrulity  and  impudence. 


80 


which  we  indulge  as  the  symptoms  of  a  forward  ca- 
pacity. Soon  after,  it  discovers  itself  in  the  young 
man  in  the  shape  of  honour.  It  begins  to  affect  an 
excessive  delicacy  of  reputation,  and  explodes  in  a 
passion  at  the  touch  of  insolence,  or  at  the  application 
of  reproof.  In  some,  it  branches  out  in  the  love  of 
show,  and  follows  obsequiously  the  ever-changing 
dictates  of  fashion.  Under  the  disguise  of  making 
what  is  called  a  good  appearance  in  the  world,  it  ob- 
tains its  greatest  triumph.  Avarice  is  compelled 
sometimes  to  yield  to  the  love  of  ostentation ;  and  all 
our  noble  and  ignoble  propensities  are  sacrificed  at 
the  shrine  of  credit  in  the  world. 

It  follows  us  also  into  all  the  professions  and  occu- 
pations of  life.  It  labours  with  the  artisan  in  his 
shop,  and  there  polishes  and  perfects  the  productions 
of  his  industry  ;  it  retreats  with  the  student  to  his  clos- 
et, and  there  strikes  out  the  scintillations  of  his  ge- 
nius. In  our  hours  of  relaxation  this  principle  is  bu- 
sy. It  discovers  itself  perpetually  in  common  con- 
versation, in  our  petty  contests  for  victory,  in  our  ele- 
vated voices,  in  our  eager  display  of  wit,  in  the  quick 
retort  and  noisy  and  disputatious  triumph.  Go  out 
into  the  forum,  and  you  will  hear  it  haranguing  elabo- 
rately with  the  utmost  appearance  of  disinterested- 
ness ;  into  the  popular  assembly,  and  you  find  it  flour- 
ishing in  declamation.  In  publick  life  it  shoots  out 
into  extravagances,  which  are  sometimes  called  great- 
ness. In  the  conqueror,  for  instance,  it  towers  into 
the  love  of  glory.  It  displays  itself  in  deeds,  at  which 


81 


the  multitude  stands  aghast  with  astonishment,  the  po 
litical  moralist  is  bewildered  and  hesitates,  deeds, 
about  which  the  opinions  of  posterity  may  be  divided 
according  to  their  hereditary  prejudices,  but  on  which 
the  christian  in  every  age  will  dare  to  look  down  with 
horrour  and  contempt. 

From  this  dazzling  discovery  of  the  love  of  human 
estimation  in  the  conqueror,  descend  and  mark  its 
influence  among  mankind  in  the  less  observed  charac- 
ter of  the  dread  of  shame.  Here  you  may  see  it  keep- 
ing men  back  from  the  ordinances  of  the  gospel ;  and 
there  suppressing  the  acknowledgements  which  they 
owe  to  God  in  their  families  and  in  their  closets,  dis- 
turbing us  with  perpetual  fear  of  being  singular,  and 
bringing  even  serious  men  insensibly  down  to  the  lev- 
el of  corrupt  manners,  which  they  cannot  approve. 

Is  it  true,  then,  that  a  passion  of  such  powerful  and 
various  operation,  as  that  we  have  now  been  consider- 
ing, is  no  where  recommended  in  scripture  as  a  mo- 
tive of  action  ?  Are  we  no  where  referred  to  the  opin- 
ion of  the  world,  no  where  expostulated  with  from 
a  regard  to  reputation  ?  Are  there  no  appeals 
made  by  any  of  the  messengers  of  God's  will  to  our 
sense  of  shame,  to  our  pride,  to  our  ambition,  to  our 
vanity  ?  Certain  it  is,  that  such  appeals  are  at  least 
rarely  to  be  met  with.  Our  Saviour,  indeed,  ap- 
pears to  have  thought  it  hazardous,  in  any  degree,  to 
encourage  a  regard  to  the  opinion  of  the  world,  as 
a  motive  to  action,  because,  however  advantageous 

might  be  its  operation  in  some  instances,  where  a 
11 


82 

higher  principle  was  wanting,  still  the  most  casual 
recommendation  of  a  sentiment  so  natural,  so  sedu- 
cing, and  so  universal,  would  have  been  liable  to  per- 
petual misconstruction  and  abuse. 

Indeed,  no  man  can  read  the  discourses  of  our  Sa- 
viour, or  of  his  apostles,  without  observing  how  utter- 
ly they  are  at  war  with  the  spirit  of  self-aggrandize- 
ment.   Perhaps,  however,  you  may  expect,  that  I 
should  refer  you  to  examples  where  this  temper  is 
clearly  censured  or  punished.     What  think  you, 
then,  of  the  history  of  Herod  Agrippa  ?  On  a  set  day, 
says  the  historian,  Herod,  arrayed  in  royal  apparel, 
sat  upon  his  throne,  and  made  an  oration  unto  the 
people.    And  the  people  gave  a  shout,  saying,  It  is 
the  voice  of  a  god,  and  not  of  a  man.    And  immedi- 
ately the  angel  of  the  Lord  smote  him,  because  he 
gave  not  God  the  glory ;  and  he  was  eaten  of  worms, 
and  gave  up  the  ghost.    My  friends,  I  make  no  com- 
ments on  this  story.    It  is  too  solemn.    Think  only, 
if  such  was  the  punishment  of  a  man  for  accepting 
the  idolatrous  flattery  offered  him,  can  they  be  guilt- 
less in  the  eyes  of  heaven,  who  cannot  live  but  upon 
the  honey  of  adulation,  and  whose  whole  life  is  but  a 
continual  series  of  contrivances  to  gain  the  favour  of 
the  multitude,  a  continual  preference  of  the  glory  of 
themselves  to  the  glory  of  their  Creator  ?  Is  not  this 
example  of  the  requisitions  of  the  gospel  sufficient  ? 
Read  then  the  dreadful  woes  denounced  against  the 
Jewish  rulers,  not  merely  because  they  did  not  receive 
our  Saviour,  nor  merely  because  they  were  continu- 


83 


ally  meditating  his  destruction  ;  but  because  they  did 
all  their  works  to  be  seen  of  men. 

But  as  nothing,  perhaps,  is  gained  in  point  of  prac- 
tical improvement  by  pushing  these  principles  of  in- 
difference to  the  world  to  an  extreme,  or  in  declaim- 
ing indiscriminately  against  any  prevailing  sentiment 
of  extensive  influence,  before  we  consider  the  restric- 
tions under  which  the  love  of  fame  should  be  laid  in 
the  mind  of  a  christian,  we  will,  as  we  proposed,  in 
the  second  place,  endeavour  to  ascertain  and  candid- 
ly to  allow  all  those  advantages,  which  may  result 
from  this  regard  to  the  opinion  of  others,  when  more 
pure  and  evangelical  motives  are  either  wanting,  or 
not  sufficiently  established. 

Here,  then,  we  will  allow,  that  much  of  the  real  as 
well  as  fictitious  excellence,  which  has  adorned  the 
world,  may  be  traced  in  some  degree  to  the  principle 
of  emulation.  We  allow,  that  it  calls  forth  the  ener-, 
gies  of  the  young  mind,  that  it  matures  in  our  colleges 
and  schools  some  of  the  earliest  products  of  youthful 
capacity,  and  that  it  offers  incalculable  aid  to  the  les- 
sons and  to  the  discipline  of  instructers.  When  we 
look  at  our  libraries,  we  can  hardly  find  a  volume, 
which  does  not,  in  a  measure,  owre  its  appearance  to 
the  love  of  fame.  When  we  gaze  on  the  ruins  of  an- 
cient magnificence,  on  the  rare  remains  of  ancient 
skill,  we  are  obliged  to  confess,  that  we  owe  these  to 
the  influence  of  emulation.  Nay  more,  when  we  read 
the  lives  of  great  men,  and  are  lost  in  wonder  at  their 
astonishing  intellectual  supremacy,  we  are  compelled 


84 


to  acknowledge,  that  for  this  we  are  partly  indebted 
to  the  love  of  fame.  We  acknow  ledge,  also,  that  it  of- 
ten supplies  successfully  the  place  of  nobler  motives  ; 
and  that,  notwithstanding  the  evils  w  hich  grow  out  of 
its  abuse,  the  world  w  ould  suffer  from  its  utter  extinc- 
tion. For  the  weight  of  publick  opinion  is  sometimes 
thrown  into  the  scale  of  truth.  We  know  that  the  pop- 
ular sentiment  will  sometimes  control  the  tyranny  of 
the  powerful,  and  counteract  the  influence  of  wealth  ; 
that  it  restrains  sometimes  the  madness  of  lust,  and  some- 
times the  cunning  of  malevolence.  We  are  also  sen- 
sible, that  the  influence  of  a  regard  to  reputation  is  of- 
ten favourable  to  the  improvement  of  social  intercourse. 
To  a  deference  to  the  w  orld's  opinion,  and  to  a  love  of 
its  good  w  ill,  are  w  e  to  attribute  much  of  that  politeness 
and  propriety,  which  are  discoverable  in  manners,  and 
much  of , that  courtesy,  which,  by  habitual  observance, 
sheds  perhaps  at  length  a  favourable  influence  on  the 
disposition.  It  is  this,  w  hich  brings  down  the  haugh- 
ty <to  condescension,  and  softens  the  rough  into  gentle- 
ness. It  is  this,  which  sometimes  checks  the  offen- 
siveness  of  vanity,  and  moderates  the  excess  of  sel- 
fishness. It  causes  thousands  to  appear  kind,  who 
would  otherwise  be  rude/and  honourable,  who  would 
otherwise  be  base. 

These  genial  effects  upon  the  intercourse  of  society 
are  sufficient  to  induce  us  to  retain  the  love  of  human 
estimation  in  the  number  of  lawful  motives.  It  was 
probably  a  view  of  some  of  these  influences  partially 
supplying  the  place  of  real  benevolence,  which  indu- 


ced  the  apostle  sometimes  to  recommend  a  regard  to 
human  opinion.  He  advises  the  Roman  converts  to 
"  provide  things  honourable  in  the  sight  of  all  men." 
To  the  Phillippians,  after  recommending  all  things 
honest,  just,  pure,  and  lovely,  he  ventures  also  to  add, 
whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report.  Nay  more,  he 
says,  not  only,  if  there  be  any  virtue,  but  if  there  be 
any  praise,  think  on  these  things.  We  believe  this 
is  the  most  decisive  testimony  of  approbation,  which 
can  be  gathered  from  the  scripture.  We  will  add, 
also,  in  favour  of  the  useful  operation  of  this  universal 
passion,  that  it  perhaps  cannot  be  completely  engaged, 
like  all  the  other  passions,  on  the  side  of  vice.  For 
the  highest  degree  of  moral  depravity  is  consistent 
only  with  an  utter  insensibility  to  the  opinion  of  the 
world  ;  and  we  are  willing  to  believe  also,  that  were 
it  not  for  this,  the  form  and  profession  of  Christianity 
would  be  more  frequently  outraged  than  it  now  is  by 
those,  who  secretly  detest  it. 

And  now,  my  friends,  after  all  these  acknowledge- 
ments, what  new  merit  is  conceded  to  your  favourite 
passion  ?  After  it  has  done  its  utmost,  it  can  only 
quicken  the  energies  of  the  mind,  restrain  sometimes 
the  other  passions,  afford  occasional  aid  to  the  cause 
of  order  and  propriety,  soften  some  of  the  asperities 
of  social  intercourse,  and  perhaps  keep  the  sinner 
from  open  and  hardened  profligacy.  But  it  cannot  pu- 
rify the  affections,  melt  the  hardness  of  the  heart, 
and  break  its  selfishness,  or  elevate  its  desires  to  the 
region  of  purity  and  peace. 


86 


We  proposed,  in  the  third  place,  to  mark  out  some 
of  the  limits,  within  which  it  ought  to  be  restrained. 

And,  first,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  regard  to  the 
opinion  of  the  world  must  not  become  the  predominant 
motive  ;  that  is,  it  must  neither  be  the  habitual  idea  in 
our  fancies,  nor  must  we  dare  ever  to  place  it  in  com- 
petition with  the  plain  commands  of  conscience  and  of 
God. 

When  we  say,  that  a  regard  to  the  opinion  of  the 
world  ought  not  to  be  the  principal  motive  of  our  con- 
duct, we  are  far  from  admitting,  that  there  are  any  in- 
feriour  motives,  by  which  this  may  be  safely  counter^ 
acted.    No  !  If  the  question  were  about  the  relative 
value  of  the  principles,  which  actuate  the  world  at 
large,  I  should  exclaim,  give  me  the  love  of  glory. 
There  are  motives,  yes,  and  common  ones  too,  in  com- 
parison with  which,  this  is  honourable,  nay,  sublime. 
The  avarice  of  gold  is  baser  than  the  avarice  of  ap- 
plause.   The  love  of  sensual  pleasure  is  brutal,  when 
compared  with  the  love  of  reputation.  Excessive 
selfishness,  or  continual  regard  to  personal  comfort 
and  convenience,  are  mean  and  worthless  habits  of 
mind,  in  comparison  even  with  vanity,  or  with  the 
love  of  praise,  though  pushed  to  ridiculousness.  In 
short,  when  we  say,  that  regard  to  human  estimation 
must  be  restrained  and  kept  in  subordination,  we 
mean  that  it  should  be  subjected  only  to  principles  of 
more  than  earthly  energy  5  we  mean  that  it  should 
bow  before  the  authority  of  religion ;  we  mean  that  it 
should  fall  before  the  meek  and  silent  influence  of 


87 


evangelical  morality.  It  is  true,  as  we  have  before 
acknowledged,  that  there  are  instances  of  men,  who, 
if  they  should  lose  their  respect  for  the  opinion  of  the 
world,  would  lose  all  that  preserved  them  from  moral 
degradation  and  ruin.  But  we  are  not  addressing 
such  men.  We  call  upon  men,  who  are  not  insensi- 
ble of  the  relation  in  which  they  stand  to  a  higher  tri- 
bunal than  that  of  society  ;  men,  who  recognize  the 
authority  of  the  gospel,  who  are  not  unacquainted 
with  the  spirit  of  its  precepts  ;  in  fine,  we  call  upon 
men,  who  are  not  entirely  unaccustomed  to  consult 
their  consciences,  and  to  appeal  to  the  approbation  of 
an  omniscient  Judge.  To  such  men  we  would  say, 
beware  of  the  imperceptible  encroachments  of  the 
love  of  human  estimation.  If  unrestrained,  it  will  not 
fail  to  contaminate  your  best  services.  You  perhaps 
have  concluded  within  yourselves,  that  you  will  be 
governed  by  this  regard  to  the  world's  opinion  only 
in  your  manners,  which  you  consider  as  an  indifferent 
part  of  conduct ;  but  believe  me,  the  step  is  but  short 
from  manners  to  morals,  nay,  they  are  partly  coinci- 
dent ;  and  from  morals  to  religious  duties  the  pas- 
sage is  easy.  If  you  obey  the  laws  of  morality  only 
as  far  as  the  world  thinks  necessary,  when  you  pre- 
tend to  piety  also,  you  will  probably  consult  its  opin- 
ion, and  be  careful  to  be  observed. 

2.  Another  limit  to  the  fondness  for  human  estima- 
tion may  be  discerned  in  that  distinction,  which  we 
believe  to  exist,  between  the  desire  of  approbation  and 
the  desire  of  admiration.    The  former  we  rarely  con 


88 


ileum ;  the  latter,  always.  The  former  is  often  con- 
nected with  a  tender  conscience  ;  the  latter,  always 
with  a  vain  imagination.  The  one  relates  to  our  mo- 
tives and  to  the  heart  \  the  other,  to  our  manners  and 
to  the  exteriour.  Approbation  is  the  reward  of  good 
intentions  ;  admiration,  of  good  appearances.  The 
desire  of  being  approved  is  a  passion  which  may  in- 
clude Grod  himself  among  the  objects  of  its  concern  ; 
and  from  a  desire  of  his  approbation  the  descent  is 
easy  to  a  lively  regard  for  the  good  opinion  of  his  chil- 
dren. But  the  desire  of  being  admired  can  have  no 
reference  to  God,  for  God  cannot  admire.  Admiration 
is  an  emotion  unknown  to  the  mind  of  omnipotence. 
He,  in  whose  sight  all  worldly  glory  is  but  a  glimmer- 
ing exhalation,  low  in  its  origin,  transitory  in  it$  conti- 
nuance, delusive  in  its  effects,  cannot  be  dazzled  by 
splendour,  or  deceived  by  appearances.  He,  who 
wishes  to  be  admired,  must  not  look  above  the  earth. 

Again,  the  love  of  approbation  is  a  gentle,  moderate 
and  equable  affection ;  the  love  of  admiration  grows 
fast  into  excess  :  then  it  inflames  the  imagination, 
preys  upon  the  spirits,  and  disturbs  the  whole  frame 
of  the  soul.  The  lover  of  admiration  disdains  the 
cool  commendations,  which  are  bestowed  upon  moral 
qualities.  He  pants  to  be  eminent,  and  makes  haste 
to  be  known.  He  is  willing  to  be  hated,  if  he  may 
but  be  feared ;  or  censured,  if  he  may  but  be  wonder- 
ed at.  When  he  talks,  he  talks  to  be  listened  to  ; 
when  he  is  silent,  he  sits  to  be  observed  ;  when  he 
does  good,  he  is  disappointed,  if  it  be  not  known  \ 


89 


when  he  does  evil,  he  is  willing  it  should  be  known, 
if  it  will  gain  respect  to  his  talents,  even  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  disposition.  On  the  contrary,  he,  who 
seeks  only  to  be  approved,  receives  with  diffidence,  as 
well  as  pleasure,  the  praises  which  he  has  not  covet- 
ed, nor  disdained.  He  is  contented  with  the  still  and 
quiet  commendation  of  the  few,  and  suspects  the  noi- 
sy encomiums  of  the  many.  He  waits  for  approba- 
tion from  others,  rather  as  a  grateful  echo  of  the  whis- 
pers of  his  own  conscience,  than  as  a  precursor  and 
herald  of  his  own  self-complacency.  The  praise 
which  he  receives  is,  therefore,  bestowed  the  more 
freely,  because  unsought ;  and  he  regards  the  good 
opinion  of  the  good,  as  the  annunciation  provided  by 
God  on  earth  of  the  judgment  already  passed  in 
Heaven. 

We  shall  mention  only  one  more  restriction  of  this 
universal  passion,  a  restriction  which  is  the  more  def- 
inite as  it  is  the  more  important,  and  more  peculiarly 
conformable  to  the  spirit  of  our  religion.  It  is  this. 
Human  estimation  should  be  valued,  as  the  means  of 
usefulness,  but  should  never  be  sought,  as  the  end 
and  ultimate  reward  of  our  exertions.  Let  us  look 
round  on  some  of  the  numberless  examples  of  self- 
deception  on  this  subject.  Here  you  may  see  a  man, 
whose  bosom  is  just  beginning  to  burn  with  senti- 
ments of  patriotism.  Awakened  by  some  accidental 
circumstance,  he  is  full  of  ardour,  seeks  for  populari- 
ty that  he  may  obtain  power,  and  for  power,  only  that 

he  may  put  in  execution  his  long  meditated  plans  of 
12 


90 


publick  utility.  He  soon  finds,  however,  that  popu- 
lar favour  is  more  easily  retained  by  flattery  and  ac- 
commodation, than  by  the  contrivance  of  publick  ben- 
efits ;  and  he  sits  down  in  the  easy  chair  of  office  in- 
active and  useless,  contented  with  believing,  that  the 
times  are  not  yet  ripe  for  his  schemes  of  improvement. 

Do  you  wish  for  another  instance  of  one  who  de- 
ceives himself  into  the  belief,  that  he  seeks  for  human 
estimation  only  as  an  instrument  of  greater  usefulness  ? 
Look  at  that  man,  who  is  so  painfully  solicitous  to  keep 
on  good  terms  with  all  with  whom  he  is  acquainted, 
how  different  soever  may  be  their  characters,  their 
principles,  and  their  importance  in  society.  If  you 
ask  him,  why  he  is  thus  anxious  to  be  thought  well  of 
by  every  one,  he  will  answer  you  with  apparent  sin- 
cerity, "  because  I  wish  to  be  extensively  useful.  I 
would  retain  favour  even  with  the  ignorant  and  the 
worthless,  that  I  may  have  it  in  my  power  to  throw 
all  this  influence  into  the  scale  of  virtue  and  good  prin- 
ciples, in  cases  of  emergency,  difficulty  and  tumult." 
When  the  long  expected  hour  of  his  usefulness  ar- 
rives, we  find  him  neutral,  sycophantick,  and  unwor- 
thy of  trust.  The  universal  reputation,  which  he  has 
sought  to  obtain,  is  first  replaced  by  universal  indif- 
ference, and  changes  at  last  to  universal  contempt. 

My  friends,  it  is  a  noble  triumph  of  evangelical 
morality,  to  make  us  willing  to  employ  distinction  as 
a  means  of  others'  good.  You,  then,  whose  names 
are  the  wonder  and  delight  of  your  contemporaries, 
come,  lend  your  reputation  to  the  cause  of  religion. 


91 


You,  whose  names  are  now  highest  in  the  list  of  how  . 
our,  let  us  hear,  that  you  have  accomplished  some 
service  for  mankind  before  your  downfal.  And  you, 
who  are  now  pressing  forward  in  the  career  of  dis- 
tinction, before  you  triumph  over  another  rival,  con- 
sider whether  you  shall  supply  his  place  in  all  the 
beneficial  extent  of  his  influence  ;  and  when  you  take 
another  step  on  the  rough  acclivity  of  fame,  remember, 
that  not  only  are  the  eyes  of  many  more  directed  to 
you,  but  that,  from  a  greater  height,  you  may  now 
scatter  blessings  more  diffusively. 

We  proposed,  lastly,  to  consider  the  means,  by  which 
this  love  of  human  estimation  may  be  diminished  in 
our  own  hearts.  The  following  considerations  are  a 
few  of  the  many,  which  may  be  suggested. 

In  the  first  place,  consider  what  we  all  arc,  in  the 
estimation  of  him  who  cannot  be  deceived,  and  who 
will  not  be  mocked.  Think,  you  who  are  daily  pant- 
ing for  acclamation  and  applause,  are  these  shouts 
heard  in  heaven  ?  And  you,  also,  to  whom  the  eyes 
of  the  world  are  raised,  as  to  a  lofty  and  portentous 
object  of  admiration,  think  from  what  an  inconceiva- 
ble distance  the  eye  of  omniscience  looks  down  upon 
you,  even  at  your  highest  elevation.  What !  Is  it 
man,  the  lowest,  perhaps,  in  the  order  of  rational  in- 
telligences— man,  who  at  his  best  estate  is  altogether 
vanity,  whose  purest  actions  are  polluted  services, 
whose  most  mighty  deeds  are  the  varied  struggles  of 
a  worm,  whose  most  enviable  reputation  must  at  last 
be  examined  before  the  tribunal  of  all-searching  jus- 


92 


ticc — is  it  man  ay  ho  requires  to  be  admonished  not 
to  he  elated  with  the  applause  of  creatures  like  him- 
self ?  My  friends,  let  us  go  and  humble  ourselves  in 
prayer  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  I  think  we  can- 
not rise  directly  from  our  knees,  and  stretch  ourselves 
out  in  the  importance  which  the  world  may  have  giv- 
en us. 

The  excessive  value,  which  we  may  be  inclined  to 
put  upon  human  estimation,  must  be  diminished,  when- 
ever we  seriouslv  examine  ourselves  in  the  following 
manner.  For  what  am  I  now  most  esteemed  ?  Per- 
haps for  the  very  quality,  of  which  I  know  that  I 
possess  the  least.  The  world  seeb  me  only  in  pub- 
lick,  when  I  am  all  upon  my  guard,  when  I  have  put 
on  my  most  showy  and  agreeable  dress,  when  I  have 
taken  pains  to  conceal  the  deformities  of  my  heart, 
and  to  patch  up  the  imperfections  of  my  understand- 
ing. But  when  I  retire  into  my  closet,  I  see  at  once, 
that  I  have  been  flattered.  This  man's  attention  I 
won  by  an  affected  complaisance  ;  another's  compla- 
cency I  secured  by  luckily  coinciding  with  his  pecu- 
liar passion  or  prejudice.  As  to  my  talents,  one  man 
mistook  my  silence  for  wisdom  ;  another,  my  fluency 
for  knowledge  ;  one  was  caught  by  some  superficial 
display  of  my  wit ;  another  formed  his  conclusions  of 
my  powers  from  my  accidental  superiority  to  him  in  a 
particular  instance.  As  to  my  disposition,  no  man 
knows,  how  many  evil  passions  prey  upon  me  in  se* 
cret ;  how  many  contests  are  there  going  on  between 
malevolence  and  fear,  between  hatred  and  politeness  : 


93 


no  man  can  see  the  workings  of  my  passions,  or  esti- 
mate the  difficulty  which  I  find  in  preserving  agreea- 
ble appearances.  When  I  consider,  too,  how  incom- 
petent are  many  of  the  judges  of  my  character,  how 
subject  are  my  friends  to  prejudice,  and  the  multitude 
to  blind  admiration,  I  cannot  but  fear,  lest  I  should 
appreciate  too  highly  a  reputation,  which  is  built  upon 
the  ignorance  of  some,  and  the  prejudice  of  others  of 
my  fellow  creatures. 

Another  consideration,  which  ought  to  diminish  our 
desire  of  human  estimation,  is  the  excessive  uncertain- 
ty of  the  favour  of  the  world.  It  is  uncertain,  be- 
cause it  may  be  lost  by  our  own  inadvertencies.  The 
fair  character,  which  years  have  been  polishing  and 
whitening,  may  be  blasted  in  a  moment  of  imprudence. 
The  proud  reputation  of  talents  or  of  wit  may  be  lost 
in  an  hour  of  forgetfulness,^of  weakness,  or  of  low 
spirits.  Nay  more,  the  monument  of  our  fame  may 
tumble  over  in  an  instant,  even  by  our  rash  endeavours 
to  build  it  too  high.  How  often  has  a  trifling  mis- 
take, or  a  casual  impropriety,  precipitated  a  popular 
idol  from  his  seat  in  the  admiration  of  the  multitude. 
We  may  lose  our  reputation  by  our  ignorance,  indeed, 
more  easily  than  by  our  fault.  But  even  if  we  were 
in  no  danger  from  ourselves,  if  we  were  sure  of  always 
deserving  the  credit,  which  we  at  any  time  possess, 
consider  how  fickle  in  itself  is  the  opinion  of  mankind. 
They  rush  forever  into  opposite  extremes.  Let  us,  then, 
anticipate  their  changes.  Let  us  become  indifferent 
to  them,  before  they  become  indifferent  to  us.  The 


94 


world  cannot  long  endure  to  admire.  Admiration  is 
an  exertion  of  the  mind  which  fatigues  ;  and  even  if  it 
were  as  easy  to  continue  to  admire,  as  to  love  or  to  ap- 
prove, the  passion  must  at  length  be  exhausted.  What 
we  look  at  for  any  length  of  time  infallibly  becomes 
familiar ;  and  what  has  become  familiar  no  longer  ex- 
cites admiration.  No  man  appears  great,  says  a  se- 
vere moralist,  no  man  appears  great  to  his  domesticks. 
But  even  if  it  were  not  the  natural  tendency  of  great 
worldly  credit  gradually  to  exhaust  itself,  yet  when 
we  consider,  how  many  are  envious  of  eminence, 
which  they  cannot  reach,  and  how  many  hate  the 
goodness,  which  they  cannot  imitate,  w  hen  we  consi- 
der that  thousands,  whose  favourable  opinion  would 
not  enhance  our  reputation,  are  yet  able  to  blast  it  in 
a  moment  by  falsehood,  by  treachery,  or  insinuation, 
let  us  sit  loose  to  the  opinion  of  the  world,  and  seek 
the  honour  which  cometh  from  God  only. 

We  have  seen,  that  this  regard  to  human  estima- 
tion, though  a  principle  of  universal,  I  had  almost 
said  infinite  influence,  is  confined  to  very  narrow  lim- 
its in  the  gospel  of  Christ.  Is  there  nothing,  then, 
provided  to  supply  the  place  of  so  powerful  an  agent 
in  the  formation  of  the  human  character?  Is  there 
nothing  left  to  awaken  the  ambition  of  the  christian, 
to  rouse  him  from  sloth  and  universal  indifference,  to 
call  forth  the  energies  of  his  mind,  and  to  urge  him 
forward  in  the  career  of  holiness  ?  Yes ;  if  we  will 
listen  to  the  language  of  an  apostle,  whose  history  pro- 
claims, that  his  passions  were  not  asleep,  that  his  em- 


9fr 

illation  was  not  quenched  by  the  profession  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  whose  spirit  ever  glowed  with  a  most  di- 
vine enthusiasm — I  say,  if  we  listen  to  him,  we  shall 
find,  that  there  is  enough  to  stimulate  all  the  faculties 
of  the  soul,  and  finally  to  satiate  the  most  burning 
thirst  of  glory.  Yes,  my  friends,  eye  hath  not  seen, 
nor  ear  heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of 
man  to  conceive  the  things,  which  God  hath  prepared 
for  them  that  love  him.  Yes,  my  friends,  our  whole 
progress  here,  through  all  the  varieties  of  honour  and 
of  dishonour,  of  evil  report  and  good  report,  is  a  spec- 
tacle to  angels  and  to  men.  We  are  coming  into  an 
innumerable  company  of  angels,  and  to  the  spirits  of 
the  just  made  perfect,  and  to  Jesus,  the  mediator  of  the 
new  covenant,  and  to  God  the  judge  of  all.  These 
have  been  the  spectators  of  our  course,  and  from  such 
are  we  to  receive  glory,  and  honour,  and  immortality. 

Wouldest  thou,  then,  christian — allow  me  to  quote 
an  eloquent  exhortation  from  a  most  pious  writer,  and 
to  close  this  discourse — 66  wouldest  thou  indeed  reduce 
this  love  of  human  estimation  under  just  control ! 
Rise  on  the  wings  of  contemplation,  until  the  praise 
and  the  censures  of  men  die  away  upon  the  ear,  and  the 
still  small  voice  of  conscience  is  no  longer  drowned 
by  the  din  of  this  nether  world.  Here  the  sight  is 
apt  to  be  occupied  with  earthly  objects,  and  the  hear- 
ing to  be  engrossed  with  earthly  sounds  ;  but  there 
shalt  thou  come  within  the  view  of  that  resplendent 
and  incorruptible  crown,  which  is  held  forth  to  thy 
acceptance  in  the  realms  of  light,  and  thine  ear  shall 


96 


be  regaled  with  heavenly  melody.  Here  we  dwell 
in  a  variable  atmosphere — the  prospect  is  at  one  time 
darkened  by  the  gloom  of  disgrace,  and  at  another 
the  eye  is  dazzled  by  the  gleamings  of  glory ;  but 
thou  hast  now  ascended  above  this  inconstant  region  ; 
no  storms  agitate,  no  clouds  obscure  the  air,  and  the 
lightnings  play  and  the  thunders  roll  beneath  thee.??* 


*  Wilberforce,  p.  145. 


SERMON  VI. 


PHILEMON 


THE  subject  of  the  present  discourse  is  the  epistle 
of  Paul  to  Philemon,  which,  as  it  will  be  repeated  in 
the  course  of  the  sermon,  I  shall  not  now  recite. 
This  epistle,  though  the  shortest,  and  in  some  respects 
the  least  important,  which  has  reached  us  of  this  apos- 
tle, is,  notwithstanding,  one  of  the  most  interesting. 
It  is  a  private  letter  from  one  man  to  another,  written 
on  an  occasion  not  very  extraordinary ;  admitted,  how- 
ever, and  retained  in  what  is  called  the  canon  of  the 
New  Testament,  in  consequence  of  the  apostolical 
character  of  the  writer.  It  neither  presents  us  with 
any  summary  of  doctrines,  nor  statement  of  import- 
ant facts  ;  but  it  invites  the  attention  of  christians  by 
the  place  where  it  is  found,  the  well  known  character 
of  the  author,  the  characteristick  merit  of  the  letter 
itself,  and,  last  of  all,  by  the  consequences,  which,  I 
think,  may  be  deduced  from  it.  Its  brevity  will  allow 
us  to  consider  it  in  a  single  discourse  ;  and  such  is 


98 


its  plainness,  that  it  does  not  call  for  a  more  close  and 
critical  examination,  than  may  be  given  from  the  pul- 
pit, or  comprehended  by  a  promiscuous  assembly. 

The  apostle,  when  he  wrote  this  letter,  was  in  con- 
finement at  Home,  fastened,  it  is  supposed,  by  a  chain 
of  a  convenient  length,  to  the  soldier,  who  guarded  him, 
and  in  the  house  which  lie  had  hired  ;  so  that  his  con- 
finement was  of  such  a  nature  as  not  to  restrain  him 
from  preaching  at  home,  and  receiving  converts  to  the 
faith  of  Jesus.  Philemon,  to  whom  he  writes,  was  a 
rich,  generous,  and  eminent  christian  at  Colosse,  in 
Phrygia,  one  of  whose  slaves,  named  Onesimus,  had 
absconded,  and,  as  was  natural,  had  found  his  way  to 
Home,  the  metropolis  of  the  empire.  Here,  it  ap- 
pears, he  had  by  some  means  met  with  Paul,  who 
converted  him  to  the  christian  faith.  The  apostle 
seems  to  have  discovered  in  him  the  best  disposi- 
tions ;  not  only  a  sincere  repentance  for  his  fault,  but 
an  honest  disposition  to  return  to  his  master.  Accor- 
dingly, though  Paul  had  become  exceedingly  attached 
to  him  in  his  confinement,  he  sends  him  back  to  Co- 
losse, furnished  with  this  letter,  in  which  the  apostle 
entreats  Philemon,  instead  of  punishing  Onesimus 
with  death,  as  the  Homan  law  authorized  him  to  do, 
to  receive  him  again  without  taking  notice  of  his 
crime,  and,  for  his  friend  Paul's  sake,  to  treat  him  in 
future  as  a  penitent  and  faithful  servant,  and,  what  was 
more,  as  a  convert  to  the  same  faith  with  himself,  and 
peculiarly  dear  to  the  apostle.  Such  is  the  simple 
occasion  of  the  epistle.    I  shall  now  recite  it  from  the 


09 


beginning,  interweaving  observations  on  the  few  ex- 
pressions, which  have  in  them  any  obscurity. 

66  Paul,  a  prisoner  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  Timothy, 
our  brother,  unto  Philemon  our  dearly  beloved,  and 
fellow  labourer,  and  to  our  beloved  Apphia,  and  Ar- 
chippus,  our  fellow  soldier,  and  to  the  church  in  thy 
house,  grace  to  you,  and  peace,  from  God  our  father, 
and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." — The  only  remark  to 
be  made  on  this  common  christian  salutation,  is,  that 
Paul  forbears  to  style  himself  an  apostle,  as  usual  in 
his  epistles  to  societies,  because  he  was  now  writing, 
not  in  the  character  of  a  minister  to  enjoin  obedience, 
but  in  that  of  a  friend,  to  solicit  a  favour.  It  may  be 
added,  that  by  the  church  in  the  house  of  Philemon  it 
is  not  intended,  that  all  the  christians  in  Colosse  as- 
sembled for  worship  under  his  roof,  but  rather,  that 
all  the  members  of  his  family  were  converts.  This,  at 
least,  is  the  interpretation  of  some  of  the  fathers,  and 
is  confirmed  by  similar  expressions  in  other  epistles.* 

"  I  thank  my  God,  (making  mention  of  thee  always 
in  my  prayers,)  hearing  of  thy  love  and  faith,  which 
thou  hast  toward  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  toward 
all  saints,"— ^By  a  very  common  transposition,  faith 
is  to  be  referred  to  Christ,  and  love  to  the  saints,  that 
is,  to  the  christians,  who  especially  needed  the  kind- 
ness and  -hospitality  of  their  richer  brethren,  in  those 
days  of  poverty  and  persecution.  The  whole  passage, 
beginning  with  this  sentence,  is  an  introductory  civil- 

*  Vide  Col.  it.  15.   Rora.  xvi,  5.  and  Macknight  ad  locum. 


100 


ity,  adapted  to  conciliate  the  favour  of  Philemon,  and 
repress  the  first  motions  of  passion  toward  his  slave. 

The  next  clause  is  the  only  one  in  this  letter,  w  hich 
remains  obscure.  "  Making  mention  of  thee  always  in 
my  prayers,  that  the  communication  of  thy  faith  may 
become  effectual  by  the  acknowledging  of  every  good 
thing  which  is  in  you  in  Christ  Jesus. V — The  apostle 
seems  to  express  a  wish,  that  the  generous  disposition 
and  good  offices  of  Philemon  might  produce  in  others 
a  persuasion  of  the  worth  of  the  gospel,  and  an  ac- 
knowledgement and  imitation  of  its  benevolent  effects 
in  this  distinguished  convert. 

"  For  we  have  great  joy  and  consolation  in  thy 
love,  because  the  bowels  of  the  saints  (i.  e.  the  hearts, 
minds,  spirits  of  the  christians)  are  refreshed  by  thee, 
brother."  This  phraseology  is  common  in  scripture, 
and  it  is  not  without  care,  that  Paul  has  introduced 
the  engaging  and  endearing  appellation  of  brother. 

He  now  proceeds  to  the  main  object  of  his  letter, 
the  restoration  of  Onesimus.  There  is  a  mixture  of 
tenderness  and  of  authority,  of  affection  and  polite- 
ness, in  this  short  letter,  an  earnestness  of  interces- 
sion, united  with  a  care  not  to  offend  even  by  a  word, 
a  choice  of  phrases  the  least  obnoxious,  of  arguments 
the  most  honourable,  and  of  motives  the  most  pene- 
trating, which  show  the  writer  to  have  been  a  man  of 
great  address,  as  well  as  of  strong  affections,  and  mas- 
tor  of  a  persuasion  not  easily  resisted. 

"  Wherefore,  though  I  might  be  much  bold  in 
Christ  to  enjoin  thee  what  is  convenient,  (or  fit,)  yet 


101 


for  love's  sake  I  rather  beseech  (being  such  an  one  as 
Paul  the  aged;  and  now  also  a  prisoner  of  Jesus 
Christ,)  I  beseech  thee  for  my  son,  whom  I  have  be- 
gotten in  my  bonds,  Onesimus." — This  keeping  the 
reader  in  suspense  till  the  very  close  of  the  period,  as 
to  the  name  of  the  offender,  has  been  often  produced 
as  a  great  rhetorical  beauty  in  the  apostle's  style. 
But  the  croud  of  motives,  which  he  has  contrived  to 
collect  in  these  few  words,  is  yet  more  remarkable. 
He  reminds  Philemon  of  his  reputation  for  kindness, 
of  his  friendship  for  the  "writer,  of  his  respect  for 
character,  and  especially  for  age,  of  his  compassion 
for  his  bonds  ;  and,  with  all  this,  lets  fall  an  insinua- 
tion, that  perhaps  some  deference  was  due  to  his 
wishes  as  an  apostle.  On  the  other  hand,  he  presents 
before  Philemon  the  repentance  of  Onesimus,  and 
his  return  to  virtue,  his  christian  profession,  and  the 
consequent  confidence  and  attachment  of  Paul,  his 
spiritual  father. 

"  (Onesimus)  who  in  time  past  was  to  thee  un- 
profitable, (a  very  mild  expression  indeed  of  his 
fault.)  but  now  profitable  (or  rather  of  value)  to 
thee  and  me,  whom  I  have  sent  back  again — do 
thou,  therefore,  receive  him,  that  is  mine  own 
bowels,  (or  as  a  part  of  myself,)  whom  I  wish- 
ed to  have  retained  with  me,  that,  in  thy  stead,  he 
might  have  ministered  unto  me  in  the  bonds  of  the 
gospel,  (i.  e.  during  my  confinement  on  account  of 
preaching  the  gospel)  but  without  thy  mind,  (or  con- 
sent,) would  I  do  nothing,  (not  even  retain  him  an  hour) ; 


102 

that  thy  benefit,  (rather  thy  goodness,)  should  not  be 
as  it  were  of  necessity,  but  willingly."  The  apostle 
means  by  this,  that  lie  chose,  that  Onesimus  should 
first  go  and  put  himself  in  his  master's  power,  so  that 
the  pardon  might  be  perfectly  voluntary  on  the  part  of 
Philemon.  For,  if  the  apostle  had  detained  Onesimus, 
(ill.,  by  his  intercession,  there  had  been  obtained  from 
his  master  a  previous  promise  to  receive  him  kindly, 
the  act  of  goodness  in  Philemon  would  have  been  nei- 
ther so  free,  nor  so  disinterested,  as  that  which  he 
had  now  an  opportunity  to  exert. 

Observe,  in  the  next  clause,  the  softness,  with  which 
the  apostle  mentions  the  offence  of  Onesimus,  as  if  it 
w  ere  simply  a  providential  separation  of  the  master 
and  slave,  with  a  view  to  a  future  and  superiour  good, 
"  For,  perhaps,  he  therefore  departed  (or,  as  in  the 
Greek,  was  separated)  from  thee  for  a  season,  that 
thou  mightest  have  him  forever ;  no  longer  as  a  ser- 
vant, but  above  a  servant,  as  a  beloved  brother  ;  spe- 
cially so  to  me,  but  how  much  more  to  thee,  both  in 
the  flesh,  and  in  the  Lord that  is,  in  modern  phrase, 
both  as  he  is  a  man,  and  a  christian. 

The  apostle  continues  his  intercession  by  every 
mode  of  persuasion,  which  his  ardour  and  generosity 
can  suggest.  66  If  thou  count  me  therefore  a  partner, 
(or  a  friend,)  receive  him  as  myself.  If  he  have 
wronged  thee  in  any  thing,  or  oweth  thee  aught,  put 
that  to  my  account.  I  Paul  have  written  it  with  mine 
own  hand,  I  will  repay  it ;  not  to  say  to  thee,  that 
thou  owest  to  me  even  thine  own  self." — What  a 


103 


dexterous  combination  of  appeals  to  interest,  honour, 
duty  and  affection  !  "  Yea,  brother,  let  me  have  joy 
of  thee  in  the  Lord ; — refresh  my  feelings  in  the 
Lord.  Having  confidence  in  thy  compliance,  I  have 
thus  written  to  thee,  knowing  that  thou  wilt  do  even 
more  than  I  say." 

He  concludes  with  the  following  request.  "  And, 
at  the  same  time,  prepare  me  a  lodging,  for  I  trust, 
that  through  your  prayers  I  shall  be  given  unto 
you."— This  discovers  a  singular  familiarity  be- 
tween the  apostle  and  Philemon,  and  a  regard  to  the 
prayers  of  a  good  family,  or  a  good  friend.  The 
salutations  at  the  end  of  the  epistle  are  from  the  com- 
panions of  Paul,  and  need  not  be  repeated. 

1.  From  the  recital  of  this  epistle,  and  the  occa- 
sional illustrations,  which  you  have  iioav  had,  you  may, 
I  think,  in  the  first  place,  naturally  conclude,  that 
there  is  nothing  peculiarly  unintelligible  in  this  apos- 
tle's mode  of  writing  ;  and  that  on  common  subjects 
his  meaning  is  as  plain,  as  his  language  is  familiar  and 
unpretending.  You  may  also  be  inclined  to  believe, 
that  if  we  could  as  certainly  ascertain  the  subjects  of 
the  other  epistles,  as  of  this  ;  if  we  could  know  the 
character  and  circumstances  of  the  churches,  to  w  horn 
they  were  written,  as  we  understand  the  situation  of 
Philemon  and  Onesimus,  many  passages,  which  now 
perplex  us,  would  become  clear,  and  innumerable  dif- 
ficulties, the  source  of  endless  theological  discussions, 
would  vanish  into  the  simplest  matters  of  fact.  In  an 
historical  explication  of  the  writings  of  the  New 


% 


104 

Testament,  such  as  we  have  now  given  of  this  short 
letter,  would  be  found  the  most  interesting  and  satis- 
factory mode  of  studying  them.  Instead  of  looking 
into  every  text,  separated  from  its  context,  to  find  some- 
thing which  may  bear  upon  a  favourite  system,  we 
should  be  content  to  understand  the  apostles,  as  they 
meant  to  be  understood  by  those  to  whom  they  wrote. 
We  should  learn,  that  they  were  not,  on  every  occa- 
sion, delivering  a  system  of  dogmas  for  the  instruction 
of  all  succeeding  time  ;  but  that  Paul,  in  particular, 
consulted  the  circumstances  of  his  correspondents, 
reasoned  with  them  sometimes  on  their  own  assump- 
tions, and  sometimes  upon  prevailing  hypotheses,  now 
according  to  their  peculiar  habits  of  interpretation, 
and  then  upon  suppositions  and  accommodations  of 
his  own,  never  losing  sight,  however,  of  the  grand 
object  of  his  labours,  the  establishment  of  Christianity, 
unincumbered  with  the  burden,  and  unfettered  with 
the  trammels  of  Judaism. 

2.  By  reflecting  on  the  circumstance,  that  this  let- 
ter is  found  in  the  canon  of  the  New  Testament,  you 
may  be  led  to  form  the  most  intelligible  notion  of 
what  is  called  the  inspiration  of  the  book,  and  also  to 
understand  the  most  important  use  of  the  apostolical 
writings.  You  may  thus  ascertain,  what  it  is  that 
gives  any  ancient  writing  a  place  in  y6ur  New  Tes- 
taments. You  will  find,  that  it  is  not  because  this 
writing  or  that  was  dictated  by  divine  inspiration ; 
for  the  question  still  returns,  what  proof  is  there,  that 
this  or  that  writing  was  inspired  ?  But  the  true  rea- 


105 


son  is  simply,  because  we  have  sufficient  edviencc  to 
believe  it  to  be  the  work  of  an  apostle.  If  the  apos- 
tles had  written  many  more  epistles,  which  had  been 
transmitted  to  us,  or  if  any  should  now  be  discovered, 
as  unsuspiciously  authentick  as  those  we  possess, 
they  would,  on  that  account,  and  that  alone,  make  a 
part  of  the  New  Testament,  and  consequently  of  the 
rule  and  records  of  our  faith.  So,  also,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  the  epistles,  which  we  now  have,  had  not  by 
any  means  been  preserved,  the  limits  of  what  we  call 
the  word  of  Grod  would  have  been  reduced,  and  we 
should  have  been  compelled  to  resort,  perhaps,  to  the 
gospels  only,  for  our  information  respecting  the  relig- 
ion of  Christ. 

When  we  say,  therefore,  that  the  letter  to  Phile. 
mon,  or  any  other  part  of  the  New  Testament,  is  the 
word  of  Grod,  we  mean  only,  that  it  is  the  genuine 
production  of  one  of  those  men,  to  whom  Grod  had 
communicated  a  miraculous  knowledge  of  the  truth 
as  it  was  in  Jesus.  It  is,  in  short,  the  real  work  of 
an  authorized  apostle  of  Jesus.  We  do  not  mean, 
that  either  the  suggestion  or  the  superintendence  of 
the  Divinity  was  necessary  for  the  conception  or  the 
composition  of  a  letter  like  this,  addressed  to  an  ind;* 
vidual  friend,  without  reference  either  to  the  churches 
or  to  posterity,  on  a  subject  of  merely  personal  con- 
cern, and  in  a  style  of  epistolary  familiarity.  No — 
we  feel  at  once,  that,  in  such  a  composition,  there  was 
no  call  for  any  thing  more  than  the  natural  powers 
and  common  state  of  the  understanding.  But  we  re- 
14 


106 


ccivc  even  this,  as  the  word  of  God,  because  it  makes 
a  part  of  the  authentiek  writings  of  one  of  his  inspir- 
ed ministers  ;  for  it  is  fair  to  conclude,  that  the  same 
God,  who  had  illuminated  and  empowered  them 
to  preach  the  gospel,  would  not  suffer  them,  in 
writing  on  any  occasion  in  which  his  revelation  was 
even  remotely  concerned,  to  give  a  false  or  mistaken 
statement  of  his  truth,  or  incidentally  to  mislead  in 
any  important  point.     If  it  were  possible  that  we 
should  be  so  misled,  it  would  imply,  that  God  had 
made  choice  of  incompetent  witnesses.      We  re- 
ceive this  gift,  therefore,  however  small,  as  a  part 
of  the  records  of  Christianity  ;  and,  without  a  servile 
credulity  in  the  supernatural  inspiration  of  every  line, 
which  at  any  time  flowed  from  the  pen  of  the  apostle, 
we  feel  a  confidence,  that,  wherever  we  understand  his 
meaning,  we  are  not  mistaken  in  the  views  of  the  gos- 
pel which  he  presents.    If  the  apostles  were  honest 
men,  we  are  sure  that  they  were  inspired  for  every 
practical  purpose  :  and  where  we  have  no  reason  to 
suspect  the  genuineness  of  their  works,  we  place  as 
complete  a  reliance  on  the  doctrines  and  facts,  which 
they  contain,  as  if  we  had  received  them  directly 
from  Jesus  himself. 

3.  This  little  epistle  instructs  us,  also,  in  the  use  of 
the  apostolical  writings.  Not  one  of  them  appears  to 
have  been  written  to  furnish  us  with  a  complete  sys- 
tem of  theology  ;  nor  were  they  originally  contrived, 
as  they  now  appear,  to  give  us  a  series  of  disconnected 
axioms  to  serve  for  every  occasion,  and  every  genera- 


107 


tion.  They  were  suggested,  like  other  letters,  by 
particular  circumstances  ;  and  they  are  now  of  use  to 
throw  light  upon  the  early  history  of  the  gospel,  to 
enable  us  to  enter  into  the  character  of  the  apostles 
and  their  converts,  to  assist  us  in  judging  of  the  prob- 
ability of  the  principal  facts  mentioned  in  the  evangel- 
ical narrative ;  in  one  w  ord,  they  are  documents,  w  hich 
awaken  an  interest  in,  and  add  confirmation  to  the 
wonderful  history  of  Jesus  and  his  apostles.  It  would, 
indeed,  be  a  subject  of  curious  inquiry  to  ascertain,  if 
we  could,  what  the  apostles  thought  upon  some  sub- 
jects of  modern  speculation  ;  but  it  is  likely  that  few, 
perhaps  none  of  them,  ever  once  entered  their  minds. 
Their  testimony  to  facts  is  all  that  is  of  indispensable 
importance  ;  and  besides  this,  we  are  enabled  to  ac- 
quire a  lively  idea  of  the  leading  doctrines  and  precepts 
and  the  animating  spirit  of  Christianity,  as  it  existed  in 
their  minds,  and  among  their  churches.  But  they  wrote 
in  a  popular  style,  influenced,  no  doubt,  by  the  pre- 
vailing notions  of  their  own  age  and  nation  ;  a  style 
by  no  means  nicely  accommodated  to  the  metaphysicks 
of  our  times,  or  regulated  by  a  strict  regard  to  philo- 
sophical precision. 

Of  the  uses  even  of  this  short  letter,  in  confirmation 
and  illustration  of  the  gospel  history,  I  will  now  at- 
tempt to  give  you  a  specimen. 

You  all  know,  that  there  is  extant,  in  our  volume 
of  the  New  Testament,  a  history,  called  the  Acts  of 
the  apostles,  commonly  believed  to  have  been  written 
by  Luke,  a  physician.    Let  us  nowT  suppose,  that  an 


108 


inhabitant  of  Colosse,  in  the  first  century,  the  execu- 
tor, for  instance,  of  Philemon's  estate,  in  looking 
over  the  papers  of  his  deceased  friend,  finds  a  letter, 
purporting  to  be  an  epistle  from  one  Paul  to  Phile- 
mon, about  the  restoration  of  a  runaway  slave.  If 
this  man  had  formerly  read,  though  without  perfect 
satisfaction,  the  extraordinary  narrative  of  Luke,  the 
name  of  Paul,  in  this  newly  discovered  letter,  would 
instantly  recal  to  his  mind  the  remarkable  history 
of  a  man  of  the  same  name,  which  he  had  read  in  the 
Acts.  He  soon  perceives,  also,  that  this  letter,  which 
he  has  just  found,  was  written  from  Rome,  while  the 
writer  was  in  confinement,  as  he  expresses  it,  on  ac- 
count of  Jesus.  Upon  turning  to  the  conclusion  of  the 
history  in  the  Acts,  he  finds,  that  the  apostle,  named 
Paul,  was  actually  put  in  bonds  at  Rome,  in  conse- 
quence of  an  arrest  in  Judea,  for  preaching  what  he 
called  the  gospel  of  Jesits.  The  letter,  then,  would 
excite  his  attention,  as  a  natural  confirmation  of  the 
history,  at  least  in  that  particular.  Unacquainted, 
however,  with  all  the  Roman  customs,  as  he  reads  on, 
he  thinks  it  not  a  little  extraordinary,  that  the  apostle 
should  have  had  an  opportunity  of  converting  Onesi- 
mus  to  the  christian  faith,  while  he  was  himself  in 
close  confinement.  Upon  reverting  to  the  history,  he 
discovers,  that  Paul  lived  all  the  while  at  Rome  in 
his  own  hired  house,  with  the  soldier  who  guarded 
him,  where  he  was  allowed  to  receive  the  visits  of 
his  friends,  and  thus  to  discourse  to  them  of  Jesus. 
In  this  view  of  the  apostle's  imprisonment,  the  con- 


109 


version  of  Onesimus,  and  the  apostle's  desire  to  retain 
him  near  his  person,  seem  no  longer  extraordinary. 

Again,  let  us  suppose,  that  this  friend  of  the  de- 
ceased Philemon,  at  Colosse,  should  chance  to  find 
some  years  after,  in  the  records  of  the  church  of  his 
native  town,  the  epistle,  which  is  styled,  in  our  Bibles, 
that  of  Paul  to  the  Colossians  ;  or  rather,  let  us  sup- 
pose, that  he  heard  it  read  then,  for  the  first  time,  in 
the  publick  congregation.  If  he  recollected  any  thing 
of  the  private  letter  of  Paul,  which  he  had  before  dis- 
covered among  Philemon's  papers,  he  would  not,  for 
a  moment,  doubt  of  the  authenticity  of  this  publick 
epistle  to  the  Colossians.  For  he  would  instantly  be 
struck  with  the  coincidences  between  them,  and  ob- 
serve the  light  and  confirmation,  which  they  communi- 
cate to  each  other,  and  to  the  history  of  the  apostle. 
He  would  remark,  that  this  epistle  to  the  church  was 
written  about  the  same  time,  and  from  the  same  place, 
with  the  letter  to  Philemon  ;  of  course  he  would  ex- 
pect to  find,  what  is  repeatedly  mentioned  in  the  Co- 
lossians, the  writer  speaking  of  himself,  as  imprison- 
ed. There  is  one  coincidence,  however,  which 
would  strike  him  with  singular  force.  He  remembers 
to  have  found  in  the  letter,  that  the  name  of  Phile- 
mon's slave,  who  had  absconded,  and  returned  to  him 
penitent,  was  Onesiinus,  and  he  now  finds,  in  the  epis- 
tle to  the  Colossians,  that  it  is  mentioned  by  mere 
accident,  that  a  convert,  named  Onesiinus,  was  the 
bearer  of  this  publick  epistle  to  the  church  ;  and  that 
he  is  there  also,  as  in  the  other,  commended  by  Paul 


110 

with  singular  affection,  as  a  faithful  and  beloved 
brother.  Could  he  suspect,  for  a  moment,  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  epistle  to  the  Colossians,  after  ob- 
serving these  and  many  more  undesigned  coincidences 
between  this  publick  correspondence  with  a  church 
and  this  private  letter  to  his  deceased  friend  ;  a  letter, 
which,  for  any  thing  that  we  know,  might,  but  for  some 
such  circumstances  as  those  we  have  imagined,  have 
remained  forever  buried  in  the  desk  of  Philemon  ? 

Let  us  pursue'  this  subject.  What  idea  would  the 
reader  of  this  letter  be  apt  to  form  of  the  character  of 
the  writer  ?  Would  he  not  conclude  him  to  be  a  man 
of  the  most  affectionate  dispositions,  of  the  most 
glowing  philanthropy,  capable  of  strong  sympa- 
thies, interested  in  the  fortunes  of  his  friends,  and 
disposed  to  any  exertions  in  their  favour  ?  Would  he 
not  set  him  down  as  a  minister,  devoted  altogether  to 
the  cause,  which  he  had  espoused,  esteeming  it  his 
first  and  highest  object,  in  defiance  of  every  personal 
inconvenience,  to  communicate,  in  his  bonds,  the 
knowledge  of  the  gospel,  solicitous,  even  in  such  a  sit- 
uation, to  save  the  soul  of  a  poor  slave,  and  unable  to 
conceal  his  delight  at  the  change  of  character  even  in 
the  obscure  Onesimus  ?  Yes,  and  with  all  this  in- 
terest in  the  minutest  circumstances  connected  with 
the  credit  of  the  gospel,  I  think  lie  might  discover  in 
the  writer  of  this  letter  a  consciousness  of  dignity,  min- 
gled with  his  condescension,  and  consummate  pru- 
dence of  address,  united  with  expressions  of  undissem- 
bled  friendship  for  Philemon  ;  I  think  he  would  say, 


lit 


here  is  a  man,  who  is  sensible  of  the  influence,  which 
age  and  office  should  command,  and  yet  is  master  of  a 
politeness,  which  knows  how  to  bring  itself,  without 
abasement,  to  a  level  with  the  place,  the  feelings,  and 
the  prejudices  of  every  class  of  men.  He  would  pro- 
nounce him  familiar  with  all  the  avenues  to  the  heart. 
He  would  say,  this  man  is  no  stranger  to  the  world, 
but  he  is  raised  above  its  common  interests  ;  and  be- 
neath all  the  graces  of  this  insinuating  style  you  may 
discern  the  magnanimity  and  disinterestedness  of  an 
apostle  of  the  Son  of  God,  a  preacher  of  sublime  and 
everlasting  truths. 

It  happens,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  that  there 
has  come  down  to  us  a  letter  of  Pliny,  the  courtier, 
the  consul,  the  man  of  letters,  who  lived  in  the  same 
age  with  the  apostle  a  letter,  addressed  to  one  of 
his  friends,  upon  an  occasion  precisely  similar  to 
this  of  Paul,  interceding  for  the  pardon  of  a  runaway 
slave.  The  time  and  the  occasion  must  excuse  me. 
from  reciting  it.  In  comparison  w  ith  that  of  Paul, 
however,  I  hesitate  not  to  say,  that  it  is  altogether 
inferiour,  not  merely  in  affection,  in  dignity,  and  the 
spirit  of  Christianity,  of  which  Pliny  was  ignorant, 
but  also  in  the  subordinate  beauties  of  style,  and  in 
eloquence  of  persuasion.  And  yet  Paul  was  a  Jew 
of  Tarsus,  and  Pliny,  the  ornament  of  an  accomplish- 
ed court  and  of  a  literary  age.    But  to  return. 

If  such,  then,  would  be  his  conception  of  Paul's 
character,  from  the  faint  sketches,  which  appear  in 


*  Pliny,  lib.  ix,  let.  21 , 


113 

this  letter,  let  him  turn  to  the  history  in  the  Acts,  and 
contemplate  there  a  full-length  portrait  of  this  won- 
derful man,  this  suhlimc  apostle,  and  say,  whether  he 
does  not  recognize  the  resemhlance.  There,  he  ap- 
pears animated  with  a  zeal,  which  nothing  earthly 
could  quench,  and  fearless  of  every  thing  which  ap- 
pals ordinary  men  ;  affectionate  as  a  child,  when  ta- 
king his  leave  of  the  elders  at  Ephesus,  bold  as  a 
lion,  in  the  presence  of  corrupt  Roman  governours ; 
in  his  speeches  before  the  Areopagus  and  the  Athe- 
nians, discovering  a  masterly  address  and  a  cultiva- 
ted mind  ;  in  the  hearing  of  Agrippa,  eloquent  as  a 
practised  rhetorician  ;  in  the  presence  of  his  enemies, 
the  Jewish  council,  prudent,  dexterous,  and  alert  to 
seize  every  lawful  advantage ;  yet,  with  all  this,  a 
most  humiliating  sense  of  his  former  sinfulness,  on  the 
one  hand,  attends,  controls,  attempers,  and  charac- 
terizes all  his  greatness  ;  while,  on  the  other,  a  senti- 
ment of  inexpressible  gratitude  to  the  Saviour,  who 
had  rescued  and  pardoned  him,  gives  a  kind  of  super- 
natural energy  of  love  to  all  his  exertions,  sanctifies  all 
his  success,  and  seems  to  spiritualize  all  his  con^ 
sciousness  of  desert,  all  the  glory  of  his  triumphs, 
Yes,  the  penitent  and  the  hero  break  out  in  his  char- 
racter,  whether  he  preaches  or  writes ;  whether  he  suf- 
fers, or  is  worshipped  as  a  God.  It  is  the  same  extra- 
ordinary man,  who  discovers  himself  in  the  familiarity 
of  a  private  letter,  and  in  the  wonders  of  a  miraculous 
history.  The  dress  is  altered,  but  the  bold  cast  of 
countenance  is  the  same.  It  is  Paul's,  and  Paul's  only. 


113 

Truly,  the  conquest  of  such  a  mind  was  the  first  and 
the  nohlest  of  the  triumphs  of  the  cross. 

Lastly,  what  ideas  would  the  reader  of  this  letter 
form  of  the  nature  and  spirit  of  Christianity  ?  I  think, 
that,  even  from  this  short  epistle,  he  would  learn  to  rev- 
erence and  love  the  cause,  which  could  form  such  men, 
and  dictate  such  sentiments.  Here  he  would  see  the 
distinctions  of  master  and  slave,  of  the  chief  apostle 
and  his  meanest  convert,  vanishing  in  their  common 
relation  to  Jesus  and  his  gospel.  Love  counts  noth- 
ing humble,  nothing  mean.  Heie  he  would  learn, 
that  the  soul,  even  of  a  fugitive  slave,  is  not  unworthy 
of  being  rescued  from  the  tyranny  and  misery  of  sin  ; 
that  the  gift  of  eternal  life,  in  the  sight  of  Jesus  and  of 
Paul,  is  no  less  important  to  Onesimus,  than  to  his 
master.  Yet,  in  remarkable  coincidence  with  the 
doctrine  of  the  apostles  in  other  epistles,  he  would 
find,  that  Christianity  made  no  alterations  in  the  civil 
or  political  relations  of  the  converts,  for  Paul  de- 
mands not  the  emancipation  of  the  slave,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  returns  him  to  tlie  service  of  his  master. 

In  this  epistle,  too,  he  would  see  recommended 
that  temper  of  forgiveness,  which  the  gospel  requires, 
and  requires,  too,  without  respect  of  persons,  from  a 
superiour  justly  incensed  toward  the  most  abject  depen- 
dent. It  acknowledges  neither  the  pride  of  revenge, 
nor  the  haughtiness  of  office.  We  see,  also,  exempli- 
fied the  duty  of  reconciling  those,  who  are  at  variance, 
however  distant  or  unequal.  We  see  a  religion,  in 
short,  which  takes  an  interest  even  in  the  continuance 
15 


114 


of  the  attachment  of  a  master  and  his  domesticks.  How 
generous,  how  disinterested,  and  yet  how  practicable 
is  all  this  !  How  conformable  to  the  preaching  of  Je- 
sus of  Nazareth,  and  how  unlike  the  customs  and 
the  spirit  of  modern  society  ! 

Besides  all  this,  we  are  taught,  by  the  example  of 
•Paul  and  Onesimus,  not  to  turn  away  from  any  por- 
tion of  the  community,  as  irreparably  wicked,  or  out 
of  the  reach  of  instruction  and  conversion.  It  gives 
a  lesson  to  every  christian  minister,  and  not  less,  let 
me  add,  to  every  master  of  a  family.  It  shows  us, 
too,  that  the  gospel  was  intended  to  find  its  way 
to  the  breast  of  a  slave,  as  well  as  to  the  head  of  a 
philosopher  ;  to  form  the  characters  of  the  lowest 
order  of  a  community  ;  to  make  a  worthy  man,  where 
every  other  religion,  which  the  world  has  yet  seen, 
and  all  the  lectures  of  the  Lycseum  besides,  would 
have  left  a  worthless,  ignorant  criminal. 

To  conclude,  he  who  feels  not  the  worth  of  this 
amiable,  benevolent,  unpretending  epistle,  may  study 
mysteries  till  he  is  tired  ;  he  may  talk  of  our  holy  re- 
ligion, till  he  fancies  himself  its  champion  ;  but 
he  understands  not  the  nature  of  Christianity.  He 
has  not  imbibed  that  spirit  of  charity,  without  which 
the  most  confident  faith  and  the  most  burning  zeal  arc 
but  a  hypocritical  show,  or  a  ruinous  delusion. 


SERMON  VIL 


JOHN  vi.  12* 

GATHER  UP  THE   FRAGMENTS  THAT  REMAIN,  THAT  NOTHING 

BE  LOST. 

OF  many  virtues  it  may  be  remarked,  that  they 
are  so  nearly  allied  to  particular  vices,  that,  by 
minds  unwilling  or  unaccustomed  to  make  nice  moral 
distinctions,  they  are  continually  confounded.  Thus, 
on  the  one  hand,  what  is  called  liberality  in  sentiment 
is  sufficiently  near  to  indifference,  and  devotional 
fervour,  on  the  other,  to  enthusiasm,  to  deceive  those, 
who  are  not  disposed  to  distinguish  them.  What  in 
one  man  is  only  caution,  in  another  is  thought  nothing 
better  than  timidity  ;  what  in  this  mind  is  al- 
lowed to  pass  for  generous  emulation,  in  that  is  gross 
envy,  or  inordinate  ambition.  In  the  view  of  the  un- 
discerning,  generosity  spreads  itself  out  into  waste 
and  profusion,  and  prudence  shrinks  into  parsimony. 

*  In  order  to  feel  all  the  force  of  some  passages  of  this  discourse,  the  reader 
should  be  informed,  that  it  was  written  at  the  commencement  of  our  com- 
mercial restrictions,  and  pronounced  at  the  quarterly  charitable  lecture  in 
Xioston. 

/ 


116 


Since,  then,  there  is  a  great  affinity  between  certain 
dispositions,  which  yet  differ  in  moral  character  ;  and 
since  some  virtues  stand,  in  fact,  on  the  confines  of 
certain  vices ;  the  more  nearly  any  one  of  our  charac- 
tcristick  qualities  is  allied  to  an  unpopular  or  una- 
miable  vice,  the  more  careful  ought  we  to  be  of  the 
simplicity,  and  the  more  sure  of  the  rectitude  of  our 
motives,  because  the  easier  is  it  for  the  world  to  mis- 
represent their  nature  and  depreciate  their  value. 
Since,  also,  many  of  those  feelings  and  habits,  on 
which  men  rest  their  claims  to  superiour  worth,  are 
sometimes  vices  in  disguise,  and  still  oftener  the  pro- 
ducts of  doubtful  dispositions,  it  becomes  of  especial 
importance  to  ascertain  the  true  nature  and  real  worth 
of  those  qualities,  to  which  we  find  ourselves  the  most 
disposed,  and  which  wear  the  form  of  virtues. 

Among  those  moral  qualities  of  close  affinity,  which 
occasion  much  perversion  and  mistake  of  judgment 
in  the  world,  we  may  reckon  the  virtue  of  frugality, 
and  the  vice  of  avarice.  On  these  every  man  feels 
competent  to  decide  in  the  character  of  another.  We 
propose  now  to  consider  the  virtue  of  frugality,  to  re- 
lieve it  from  disesteem,  and  to  guard  it  from  perver- 
sion. In  doing  this,  we  shall  attempt  to  draw  the  re- 
quisite distinctions  between  it  and  its  unworthy  coun^ 
terfeits  ;  to  distinguish  what  in  it  is  prudent  from 
w  hat  is  purely  selfish,  what  in  it  is  wise  and  honour- 
able from  what  is  childish  and  disgraceful ;  and  what 
is  useful  to  the  individual,  and  good  for  society, 


117 


from  what  is  always  useless  to  the  one,  and  ultimately 
destructive  to  the  other. 

Among  the  considerations,  which  have  induced  me 
to  make  this  virtue  the  subject  of  a  discourse  on  this 
occasion,  it  is  not  one  of  the  least,  that  nothing  will 
more  effectually  enable  us  to  preserve  in  all  their  vig- 
our, and,  in  fact,  to  multiply  and  extend  the  charities 
of  this  place,  than  the  revival  or  the  preservation  of 
frugality.    We  have  been  living  in  a  period  and 
state  of  society,  where  the  facilities  of  profit  hav* 
been  numerous  beyond  a  parallel,  and  the  frequent 
examples  of  sudden  gains  flattering  and  seductive. 
Temptations  to  extravagance  have  increased  daily. 
Thousands  have  been  spending  upon  anticipation, 
and  dissipating,  not  hereditary  wealth — for  of  that  we 
possessed  little — not  sure  and  tangible  acquisitions, 
for  these  wre  have  wanted  patience  to  collect — but 
that  airy  and  invisible  representative  of  wealth,  credit, 
which,  of  all  possessions,  it  is  most  necessary  to  econ- 
omise and  guard  from  violation.    The  time  seems  to 
be  approaching,  if  it  have  not  already  come,  in  which 
men  are  to  learn,  that  they  cannot,  with  impunity,  de- 
spise this  virtue  of  frugality  ;  and  we  have  begun  to 
see,  that  uninterrupted  profit  is  not  the  order  of  nature. 
We  have  found,  that  there  are  other  enemies  to  rapid 
gains,  besides  the  elements  of  nature,  or  the  shoal 
which  wrecks  our  vessels,  or  the  indiscretion  which 
mismanages  our  means,  or  the  moth  and  rust  which 
corrupt  treasures  long  ago  collected.   We  find,  that 
there  may  be  serious  obstructions  to  usual  channels 


118 


of  profit,  which  check  in  an  instant  the  movements  of 
the  vast  machine  of  acquisition;  that  the  calculations 
of  the  aspiring  man  of  business  may  he  arrested,  and 
every  man  in  society  compelled  to  pause,  some  to 
inquire  into  the  sources  of  their  prosperity,  others  into 
the  security  of  their  actual  possessions.  We  find,  that, 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  human  affairs,  changes  occur 
against  which  nothing  but  habitual  frugality  can  pro- 
vide ;  and  we  are  taught  to  feel  the  importance  of  es- 
tablishing the  habits  of  a  rising  community  in  that 
state  of  moderate  expense,  which  can  be  easily  main- 
tained through  all  these  changes.  It  is  a  time,  in  fact, 
to  learn  the  great  riches  of  frugality.  Gather  up,  then, 
the  fragments  that  remain,  that  nothing  be  lost. 

Before  we  proceed  further  to  recommend  this  vir- 
tue, let  us  attempt  to  distinguish  it  from  that  vice  of 
avarice,  to  w  hich  some  will  persist  in  supposing  it  re- 
lated. There  is  no  man,  whatever  be  his  place,  his 
means,  or  his  character  in  life,  who  does  not  feel  au- 
thorized to  decry  the  spirit  of  parsimony.  Though 
he  denies  that  lie  lias  ever  felt  it  himself,  it  is  the  pas- 
sion which  he  is  always  most  sharp-sighted  to  detect 
in  others.  But,  if  we  mistake  not,  economy  differs 
from  avarice,  not  merely  in  degree,  but  in  kind.  The 
utmost  excess  of  frugality  never  sinks  into  avarice  ; 
nor  does  the  low  est  degree  of  avarice  ever  amount  to 
frugality.  They  proceed  from  different  propensities, 
they  avail  themselves  of  different  means,  they  are  di- 
rected to  different  ends.  Avarice  accumulates  for  the 
sake  of  accumulation  ;  economy  spares  for  the  sake  of 


119 


use.     Avarice  becomes  at  last  a  disinterested  pas'r 
sion ;  and  money,  the  more  it  is  gained,  is  loved  and 
hoarded  more  solicitously,  merely  because  it  is  mon- 
ey.   Economy  does  not  grow  more  saving,  as  the 
means  of  expense  are  multiplied :  it  lays  by  with  a 
view  to  some  future  accommodation,  but  with  less 
scrupulosity,  the  more  it  has  to  deposit.  Avarice, 
even  when  it  is  cheated  into  bounty,  reluctantly  parts 
with  the  little  that  it  yields ;  economy  never  gives 
merely  on  compulsion,  and  is  often  grieved  that  it 
dares  not  bestow  a  more  ample  favour.    Avarice,  al- 
ways intent  on  minute  savings,  is  frequently  blind, 
and  is  sometimes  betrayed  by  her  rapacity  into  serious 
losses  ;  economy,  while  she  gathers  up  the  fragments 
that  remain,  is  never  hurried,  by  a  thirst  of  gain,  into 
imprudent  and  destructive  speculations.    Avarice  re 
gards  only  money,  or  what  it  represents  ;  economy  is 
a  branch  of  that  comprehensive  prudence,  which 
knows  how  to  be  frugal  of  every  thing,  of  time,  op- 
portunities, and  talents,  as  well  as  wealth.    An  av- 
aricious man  feels  like  a  unit  in  creation,  and  saves 
for  himself  alone ;  a  frugal  man  considers  himself 
one  of  a  circle  of  creatures,  mutually  dependent, 
whose  expectations  and  whose  claims  he  consults, 
and  in  all  his  habits  of  frugality  has  reference  to  his 
relation  to  society  and  to  posterity.    The  highest 
benevolence  of  character  may  consist  with  a  habit  of 
regulated  and  moderate  expenditure,  and  consists,  in- 
deed, with  nothing  else  ;  but  it  is  the  curse  of  the  av- 
aricious man,  to  experience  th«  miseries  of  pure  self- 


120 

ishness,  to  be  at  once  envious  of*  the  rising  prosperi- 
ty of  others,  and  anxious  about  his  own  possessions, 
to  be  ever  afraid  of  losing,  and  still  more  afraid  to 
give,  because  he  sees  nothing  in  bounty  but  delibe* 
rate  waste,  and  uncompensated  diminution.  In  short, 
frugality  will  associate  with  any  of  the  virtues,  and 
becomes  herself  the  parent  of  others,  and  not  only 
of  virtues,  but  of  a  thousand  permanent  comforts ; 
avarice,  in  its  very  nature,  defeats  its  own  wishes,  and 
encounters  from  others  nothing  but  enmity  and  con- 
tempt When  mature,  it  sheds  a  blasting  influence 
over  the  finest  affections  and  sweetest  comforts  of 
mankind.  Men  spontaneously  combine  to  detest  it, 
and  God,  the  most  bountiful  of  beings,  looks  down 
with  abhorrence  on  a  spirit,  which  does  nothing  but 
counteract  his  benevolent  designs. 

This,  you  may  say,  however,  is  rather  a  rhetorical, 
than  a  precise  description  of  the  quality,  which  we 
mean  to  recommend  under  the  name  of  frugality.  To 
avoid,  then,  all  cavil  or  subterfuge,  all  excuses  from 
the  plea,  that  you  know  not  how  far  your  expenses 
may  be  carried  without  profuseness,  or  how  much 
economy  you  may  observe  without  penuriousness, 
I  would  say,  once  for  all,  that  I  mean  by  the  eco- 
nomical man,  him  who  does  not  exceed  his  income, 
who  does  not  spend  upon  anticipation,  and  who  is  not 
ashamed  to  gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain,  that 
nothing  be  lost;  and  who,  in  the  regulation  of  his  ex- 
penses, always  has  regard  to  the  claims  of  charity, 
and  retrenches  always,  when  he  can,  from  his  owa 


i21 


personal  gratifications,  to  do  good  to  those  who  want 
what  he  can  spare. 

If,  then,  you  ask  for  the  reasons,  why  you  should 
practise  this  virtue,  I  answer,  in  the  first  place,  from 
the  authority  of  the  text.  I  have  chosen  it,  as  a  re- 
commendation to  you  as  christians.  Gather  up  the 
fragments  that  remain,  that  nothing  he  lost.  The 
precept  is  introduced  at  a  time  and  in  a  place,  which 
render  it  most  extraordinary  and  remarkable.  It  was 
w  hen  the  Son  of  God  had  been  feeding  five  thousand 
men,  by  a  miraculous  multiplication  of  food.  It  was 
in  the  midst  of  this  generosity  and  supernatural 
abundance,  when  they  were  all  filled  and  satisfied,  that 
our  Saviour  charges  them  to  gather  up  the  fragments 
that  remain,  that  nothing  be  lost.  What  then  !  If 
the  son  of  God,  with  whom  there  could  be  no  appre- 
hension of  want,  and  who  might  have  provided  for 
his  family  of  disciples  by  a  daily  miracle,  chose 
that  moment  of  plenty  to  give  a  precept  of  frugality, 
is  this  a  virtue  to  be  disdained  by  man,  the  most  de- 
pendant of  animals,  who  possesses  nothing,  which  he 
has  not  received,  and  w  ho  knows  not  what  shall  be, 
even  on  the  morrow? 

2.  The  next  reason,  which  I  shall  offer  you  for  the 
practice  of  frugality,  is,  it  seems  also  to  be  the  prac- 
tice of  omnipotence  itself.  In  those  vast  operations 
which  are  continually  going  on  in  nature,  there  ap- 
pears no  waste,  no  unnecessary  profusion.  Though 
he,  who  created  this  stupendous  whole,  might  conti- 
nually reproduce  whatever  might  be  lost,  yet,  amid 


the  endless  changes  of  matter,  not  a  particle  is  anni- 
hilated. Magnificence  every  where  displays  itself 
without  waste,  and  grandeur  is  every  where  made 
subservient  to  utility.  Those  vast  orbs,  which  com- 
pose our  planetary  system,  are  all  so  nicely  counter- 
poised, that  we  can  discover  no  unnecessary  exercise 
of  power,  no  useless  and  unaccountable  movements. 
Those  bright  bodies,  which  adorn  the  arch  of  heaven, 
modern  discoveries  make  it  probable,  are  themselves 
the  residences  of  animated  beings,  while  they  diffuse 
light  and  heat  to  countless  and  habitable  spheres. 
They  are  not  placed  above  us  merely  to  furnish  us 
with  some  feeble  light ;  nor  is  all  this  profusion  of 
magnificence  expended  to  delight  the  eye  of  man 
by  the  decoration  of  the  concave,  which  over- canopies 
him.  Even  the  comet,  which  makes  such  wild  and 
apparently  extravagant  excursions  into  the  regions  of 
boundless  space,  may  be  the  messenger,  and  perhaps 
the  agent  of  the  most  necessary  purposes  in  creation. 
The  air,  which  seems  to  be  diffused  with  such  waste- 
ful generosity  above,  below,  around  us,  fulfils  a  thou- 
sand beneficent  designs,  reflects  the  light,  conveys 
sound,  raises  vapours,  and  sustains  the  life  of  all  an- 
imal and  vegetable  nature.  The  wide  expanse  of 
waters,  which  seems,  at  first  glance,  a  mere  waste  of 
surface  on  the  globe,  furnishes  by  copious  evap- 
oration the  necessary  recruit  to  those  pure  springe 
and  navigable  rivers,  which,  at  once,  refresh  and  ac- 
comodate the  living  creatures  on  the  earth.  Indeed, 
wherever  nature  appears  to  have  been  prodigal  of  her 


123 


wealth,  we  find  she  has  only  been  gathering  stores 
for  some  future  secret  wants  ;  and  those  countries, 
which  exhibit,  at  first  view,  a  superabundance  of  fer- 
tility, are  destined,  we  find,  to  furnish  articles  in  ex- 
change for  others,  and  thus  a  system  of  mutual  com- 
pensation is  provided,  as  population  increases  and 
the  intercourses  of  society  are  multiplied  and  ex- 
tended. If,  then,  in  the  arrangement  of  an  omnipo- 
tent providence,  where  the  fear  of  want  cannot  be 
known,  such  an  economical  distribution  is  every 
where  observed,  shall  we,  in  our  little  spheres,  in  our 
precarious  and  contracted  operations,  be  ashamed  to 
imitate  the  prudence  of  the  God  of  nature  ? 

3.  A  third  reason,  which  I  shall  offer  for  the  prac- 
tice of  frugality,  is  this,  that,  in  proportion  to  the  me  * 
diocrity  of  its  place  in  the  scale  of  virtues,  the  more 
frequent  are  the  opportunities  for  its  practice.  It  is 
a  virtue  within  every  man's  reach,  neither  confined  to 
particular  classes  of  men,  or  periods  of  life,  nor  de- 
manding any  singular  circumstances,  or  favourable 
situations,  before  it  can  be  practised.  It  may  be  ob- 
served by  the  day  labourer,  who  earns  his  bread  from 
hour  to  hour,  and  not  less  by  the  hereditary  proprietor 
of  unreckoned  millions  ;  by  the  man  who  is  not  known 
beyond  the  light  of  his  own  fireside,  and  the  man  who 
is  busy  in  the  traffick  of  the  world  ;  by  the  head  of  a 
family,  and  the  head  of  an  empire ;  by  the  poor  man, 
who  lives  upon  his  regular  pittance,  and  by  him,  who 
has  the  lives  and  treasures  of  thousands  at  the  dispo« 
sal  of  his  generosity.    It  may  be  practised  silently 


124 

and  secretly,  where  it  cannot  be  disdained ;  or  in  pub- 
lick,  and  without  disguise,  where  the  example  may  be 
of  consequence.  The  habit,  though  not  congenial 
with  the  dispositions  of  the  young,  may  be  formed  be- 
fore the  value  of  property  is  understood  ;  and  it  may 
be  preserved  without  difficulty  in  age,  when  time  has 
increased  our  original  attachments  to  human  posses- 
sions. As  it  is  a  virtue,  which  neither  excites  much 
attention,  nor  challenges  loud  commendation,  it  may 
be  cultivated  without  exposure,  without  fear,  without 
embarrassment,  without  reproach.  Few  men  have 
opportunities  of  great  gain  ;  but  to  save  with  discre- 
tion, is  within  every  one's  power.  Few  can  make 
themselves  distinguished  by  splendid  profuseness ;  but 
all,  in  a  country  like  this,  may  keep  themselves  from 
want  by  silent  and  blameless  economy.  In  fine,  it  is 
a  virtue,  which  may  be  practised  in  all  times,  coun- 
tries, ranks,  ages,  relations,  and  capacities  ;  and  this, 
perhaps,  is  the  very  circumstance  which  has  made 
some  men  despise  it,  who,  though  ashamed  to  practise 
a  humble  virtue,  have  not  been  afraid  of  great  and 
splendid  crimes. 

4.  A  fourth  reason  for  economy  is  to  be  found  in 
the  mournful  effects  of  prodigality ;  for  the  prodigal, 
in  the  full  career  of  his  profligate  generosity,  is  fast 
approaching  a  state  of  dependence.  At  this  word 
dependence  we  all  revolt,  and  we  ought  to  revolt.  It 
is  this,  which  constitutes  the  worst  evil  of  poverty. 
Poverty  not  only  makes  us  destitute,  and  abridges  the 
number  of  our  pleasures,  but  its  greatest  hardship  is, 


125 


that  it  places  us  in  the  power  of  those  whom  wealth 
has  set  above  us  ;  and,  while  it  exposes  us  to  severe 
and  unexpected  trials,  it  too  often  reconciles  the  mind 
to  abject  compliances  and  humiliating  artifices,  at 
which  the  spirit  of  virtue  would  once  have  indignant- 
ly revolted.  To  this  wretched  condition  how  sud- 
denly may  the  prodigal  be  reduced  !  Ages  of  toil  and 
prudence  may  be  employed  in  the  acquisition  of  a 
fortune,  which  the  cast  of  a  die  may  dissipate  in  an 
instant ;  as  the  showers  of  rain,  which  descend  in  a 
moment  by  their  own  gravity  to  the  earth,  have  been 
slowly  and  successively  raised,  particle  by  particle, 
from  a  wide  expanse  of  waters.  The  profuse  man, 
who  is  possessed  with  the  pitiable  vanity  of  making 
a  show,  which  he  linds  it  difficult  to  maintain,  expe- 
riences all  the  miseries  of  dependence  long  before  he 
is  reduced  to  circumstances  of  real  and  absolute  want. 
He  is  continually  employed  in  contrivances  to  raise 
mistaken  admiration,  and  he  gains  nothing  by  pro- 
fusion but  the  contempt  of  those,  who  are  not  weak 
enough  to  envy  him.  Even  in  the  days  of  his  most 
abundant  means,  he  is,  in  a  thousand  ways,  the  prey 
of  the  multitude  of  creatures,  that  are  necessary  to  his 
ostentation.  He  must  seem  to  care  nothing  about  ex- 
pense, while  he  knows  that  he  cannot  long  support 
his  mode  of  life,  in  which  every  new  instance  of  pro- 
fusion leads  only  to  another  more  extravagant,  and  in 
which  he  resembles  a  descending  meteor,  which 
grows  more  brilliant  and  dazzling  just  before  it  bursts. 
He  is  condemned,  also,  to  see  a  crowd  of  imitators 


126 


treading  close  upon  his  heels  and  aping  his  prodigal- 
ities. He  is  miserable  with  the  thought,  that  he 
is  engaged  in  a  career  in  which  he  cannot  relax  with- 
out mortification,  for,  if  he  should  fail,  the  whole 
crowd  of  his  retainers  and  imitators,  as  soon  as  his 
inability  is  suspected,  will  be  changed  into  his  despis- 
ers,  his  calumniators,  or,  what  he  more  fears,  perhaps, 
his  proud  superiours  in  the  arts  of  expense.  He 
bears  about  with  him  the  painful  conviction,  that  those 
who  flattered  him  when  his  purse  was  full,  those  mis- 
erable instigators  of  his  follies,  who  were  willing  to 
run  witti  him  into  the  same  excess  of  riot,  will  begin 
to  avoid  him  in  his  mediocrity,  or  to  insult  him  in  his 
poverty. 

It  is  also  the  fate  of  prodigality,  when  it  does  not 
destroy,  to  be  continually  defeating  itself.  As  the 
same  gains  will  not  always  satisfy  a  rapacious  spirit 
of  avarice,  so  the  same  expenses  will  but  for  a  little 
while  content  the  profuse.  What  was  at  first  only 
convenient,  becomes  at  last  necessary ;  what  was  once 
superfluous,  becomes  convenient ;  what  was  formerly 
acknowledged  to  be  vain  and  ostentatious,  becomes,  at 
last,  a  part  of  the  habits,  and  therefore  indispensable. 
Thus  the  well  known  curse  of  avarice,  that  it  is  never 
satisfied  with  what  it  has  accumulated,  is  transferred 
to  prodigality ;  and  it  is  ultimately  found  as  painful 
for  the  prodigal  to  retrench,  as  for  the  miser  to  ex^ 
pend. 

5.  Another  reason,  which  may  be  offered  for  a  pru-, 
dent  management  of  wealth,  is  its  excessive  uneer- 


127 

tainty.  How  often  is  this  consideration  neglected  ! 
Instead  of  saving,  as  we  ought,  something  from 
the  waves  of  peril  and  change,  men  are  always  cal- 
culating upon  anticipated  profits.  We  flatter  our- 
selves, that  to-morrow  shall  be  as  this  day,  and  yet 
more  abundant.  We  are  influenced  by  examples  of 
sudden  success,  instead  of  being  warned  by  examples 
of  sudden  downfal.  We  think,  that,  where  others 
have  succeeded,  we  cannot  fail ;  and,  however  limit- 
ed our  means,  there  is  unfortunately  no  limit  to  our 
hopes.  The  insecurity  of  what  we  actually  possess 
would  be  enough,  as  one  might  think,  to  keep  us  from 
waste  ;  but,  instead  of  this,  men  spend  upon  expec- 
tation ;  and  he  that  is  prodigal  of  what  he  only  ex- 
pects, will  hardly  feel  the  uncertainty  of  what  he  actu- 
ally holds.  To  such  men  I  would  repeat  the  serious 
admonition  of  St.  James  :  Go  to  now,  ye  that  say,  to- 
day or  to-morrow  we  will  go  into  such  a  city,  and  buy, 
and  sell,  and  get  gain,  whereas  ye  know  not  what  shall 
be  on  the  morrow  ;  for  what  is  even  your  life  ?  Is  it 
not  a  vapour,  which  appeareth  for  a  little  time,  and 
then  vanisheth  away  ?  Whereas  ye  ought  to  say,  if 
the  Lord  will,  we  shall  live,  and  do  this  or  that.  But 
ye  have  lived  in  pleasure  on  the  earth  ;  ye  have 
nourished  your  hearts,  as  in  a  day  of  slaughter.  Be- 
hold, the  husbandman  waiteth  for  the  precious  fruits 
of  the  earth,  and  hath  long  patience  for  it,  until  he 
receive  the  early  and  the  latter  rain.  Be  ye  also  pa- 
tient, and  trust  not  in  uncertain  riches. 


128 


6.  The  last  reason,  which  I  shall  offer,  for  the  prac- 
tice of  frugality,  is  one  which  I  wish  you  to  feel,  par- 
ticularly on  the  present  occasion.  It  is  found  in  the 
purposes,  for  which  wealth  has  been  bestow  ed  upon 
you  by  God,  purposes,  which  prodigality  utterly  de- 
feats. Do  you  ask,  what  are  these  purposes?  We 
answer,  that  no  man  is  born  for  himself  alone,  or  for 
the  short  period  in  which  he  lives.  You  are  related 
to  the  age  which  has  preceded,  and  to  the  posterity 
which  is  to  succeed  you.  If  your  present  wealth  is 
hereditary,  those  who  bequeathed  it  lay  their  com- 
mands on  you  their  heirs.  Your  ancestors  cry  to  you 
from  their  tombs,  that  you  have  their  riches  in  keep- 
ing ;  and  beseech  you  to  expend,  with  wise  liberality, 
what  they  collected  with  toil.  Is  your  wealth  the  pro- 
duct of  your  own  exertions  and  of  your  own  oppor- 
tunities, the  next  generation  puts  in  its  claims,  and 
avows  its  expectations.  It  tells  you  to  look  into 
futurity,  and  see  descendants  impoverished  by  your 
imprudences,  entering  into  life  bearing  the  burden 
and  reproach  of  your  prodigality,  and  perhaps  driven 
to  crimes  and  despair  by  the  want  you  have  entailed 
upon  them.  Your  contemporaries,  also,  rise  up  around 
you,  and  inquire  by  what  right  you  waste  that  portion 
of  the  wealth  of  the  world,  which  has  been  assigned 
you  by  the  tacit  conventions  and  guaranteed  by  the 
laws  of  society.  We  have  a  claim  upon  you,  they 
cry,  for  all  the  good  which  your  possessions  may  be 
made  to  produce,  and  you  have  not  the  right  to  place 
them  out  of  your  control  by  such  rapid  dissipation, 


129 


or  to  reduce  yourself  to  want  which  Ave  must  relieve, 
and  then  plead  your  incapacity  to  be  useful. 

Do  you  ask,  why  I  have  chosen  this  subject  for 
such  an  occasion.  I  can  only  answer  by  saying,  be 
frugal,  that  you  may  be  charitable.  Nothing  ex- 
hausts the  spirit  of  charity,  as  well  as  the  sources  of 
bounty,  so  surely  as  selfish  and  indiscriminate  prodi- 
gality ;  and  no  man  is  so  unwilling  to  give,  as  he  who 
is  accustomed  to  spend  profusely  upon  himself.  His 
wealth,  which  would  have  made  many  comfortable,  is 
often  expended  upon  one,  without  increasing  the 
name,  but  merely  the  show  of  enjoyment.  The  young 
and  vain  are  tempted  by  our  ambitious  extravagances 
to  expenses,  which  they  cannot  support,  while  the 
riches  of  the  community  are  wasted  away,  ,and  the 
cries  of  the  poor  are  unregarded. 

By  prodigality  the  encroachments  of  luxury  are 
silently  extended  through  all  the  classes  of  the  com- 
munity. The  discontentment  of  your  inferiours  is 
excited  by  demonstrations  of  splendour,  which  they 
cannot  imitate ;  and  the  spendthrift,  when  he  finds 
that  his  revenues  will  no  longer  suppoi't  his  poor  at- 
tempts at  extravagance,  is  driven  to  crimes,  at  which 
lie  would  once  have  revolted,  and  a  hard-heartedness, 
of  which  he  would  once  have  been  ashamed.  He  is 
forced  by  very  shame  to  petty  frauds,  to  frequent 
breaches  of  promise,  to  injurious  oppression,  and  va- 
rious means  of  supply,  which  deprave  all  the  finest 
sentiments  of  benevolence  and  virtue. 

Be  frugal,  then,  that  you  may  be  charitable.  In 
these  days  of  increasing  luxury,  and  of  increasing 
17 


130 

want,  how  shall  our  beneficence  keep  pace  with 
the  demands  of  charity,  unless  we  learn  to  retrench 
for  the  sake  of  beneficence?  It  is  not  my  object,  in 
this  discourse,  to  produce  in  you,  at  this  time,  any 
extraordinary  degree  of  munificence,  but  to  recom- 
mend to  you  a  virtue,  which  if  you  can  be  persuad- 
ed to  practise,  I  shall  feel  secure  of  your  future 
bounty.  I  shall  fear  no  diminution  in  your  chari- 
ties, and  the  poor,  for  whom  I  am  called  to  plead  this 
evening,  will  bless  me  much  more,  than  if  I  could 
now  empty  your  purses  in  one  profuse  contribution. 
They  value  the  man,  who,  in  all  his  expenditures, 
has  a  regard  to  their  perpetual  claims ;  they  prize 
that  constant  and  well -principled  bounty,  which  is 
nourished  by  frugality,  much  more  than  they  esteem 
the  occasional  charity  of  the  spendthrift,  who  is 
moved  by  some  accidental  feelings  of  compassion, 
but  who  forgets  them  as  soon  as  his  purse  is  emptied, 
-and,  at  the  next  call  of  charity,  has  nothing  to  give. 

To  conclude,  I  have  said,  be  frugal,  that  you 
may  be  charitable.  Let  me  add,  that  charity  is  the 
truest  frugality.  As  God  lives,  no  man  ever  has  lost, 
or  can  lose,  by  well-directed  bounty.  There  is  no 
waste  in  charity.  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters, 
and  thou  shalt  find  it  again.  He  that  soweth  spar- 
ingly shall  reap  also  sparingly,  and  he  that  soweth 
bountifully  shall  reap  also  bountifully.  Abound,  there- 
fore, in  the  work  of  the  Lord,  inasmuch  as  ye  know 
your  labour  shall  not  be  in  vain  in  the  Lord. 


SERMON  VIII. 


HEB.  xi.  1. 

NOW    FAITH     IS    THE    SUBSTANCE    OF    THINGS  HOPED  FOR, 
THE   EVIDENCE  OF   THINGS   NOT  SEEN. 

AMONG  the  terms  of  theology,  which  have  given 
rise  to  much  useless  controversy,  and  many  differen- 
ces of  explanation,  the  word  faith  is  not  the  least  con- 
siderable. As,  in  different  passages,  it  is  used  in 
different  connexions,  according  to  the  object  of  the 
writer,  and  the  subject  of  his  reasoning,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising, that  it  should  not  always  admit  of  an  uni- 
form interpretation,  and  that  no  particular  definition  of 
it  should  be  found  completely  to  explain  its  meaning 
in  every  passage  in  which  it  is  used  in  the  New 
Testament.  The  sense,  however,  in  which  it  is  em- 
ployed in  the  celebrated  chapter  from  which  our 
text  is  taken,  is  one  of  the  most  extensive,  and  per- 
haps the  most  natural  and  intelligible  of  any  ;  and  this 
meaning  of  the  word  we  propose,  in  the  following 
discourses,  to  illustrate, 


Faith,  says  the  apostle,  is  the  substance  of  things 
hoped  for,  and  an  evidence,  or  rather  a  conviction,  of 
things  not  seen.  Faith,  therefore,  is  a  principle,  which 
naturally  results  from  the  constitution  of  the  human 
mind  ;  and  the  general  import  of  the  word  is  well  un- 
derstood, though  it  may  not  be  well  defined,  by  the  most 
ordinary  understanding,  because  it  is  of  necessity  exer- 
cised by  all.  It  is  not  opposed  to  reason,  which  is 
its  only  just  foundation,  nor,  except  in  a  peculiar, 
theological  sense,  to  works  ;  but,  properly,  philo- 
sophically, and  universally,  it  is  opposed  to  knowl- 
edge. This  principle  is  precisely  the  same,  when 
exercised  on  other  truths,  as  on  those  of  religion. 
There  is  no  peculiar  strangeness  in  the  faith  of  a 
christian,  no  especial  mysteriousness  in  the  nature  of 
religious  faith  in  general.  The  same  constitution  of 
the  human  mind,  which  enables  us  to  believe,  upon 
sufficient  testimony,  that  there  was  such  a  person  as 
Alexander,  will  not  allow  us  to  doubt,  that  there  was 
such  a  teacher  as  Jesus.  It  is  the  same  principle, 
which  leads  us  to  believe  in  the  conquests  of  the  one 
and  the  miracles  of  the  other.  With  respect,  also, 
to  future  events,  the  act  of  faith  is  of  a  similar  nature, 
whether  the  event  belong  to  this  world,  or  to  another. 
The  same  principle,  which  would  lead  us  to  look 
confidently  for  an  eclipse,  predicted  by  a  man  of  sci- 
ence, will  not  suffer  us  to  doubt  the  authorized  mes- 
senger of  God,  who  declares,  that  the  day  is  coming, 
when  all  they  that  are  in  their  graves  shall  hear  the 


133 


voice  of  the  son  of  man,  and  shall  come  forth.  Reli- 
gious faith  is  especially  employed  about  every  thing 
which  relates  to  the  will,  the  providence,  and  the 
character  of  God ;  and  the  faith  of  a  christian  is  dis- 
tinguished, from  all  other  kinds  of  religious  faith, 
only  by  its  superiour  extent,  purity  and  influence.  It 
embraces  doctrines,  of  which,  if  true,  it  is  infinitely 
dangerous  for  us  to  be  ignorant ;  and  it  is  supported 
on  evidence,  which  gives  it  a  stability,  and  inspires 
it  with  an  interest,  which  cannot  properly  belong  to 
any  other  description  of  belief. 

In  the  following  discourses  we  propose  to  enume- 
rate some  of  the  objects,  to  explain  the  reasonable- 
ness, and  to  urge  the  importance  of  faith.  These 
are  the  three  divisions  of  our  subject. 

We  might,  with  the  greatest  ease,  and  perhaps  with 
some  profit,  fill  this  discourse  with  remarks  upon  the 
numerous  and  different  instances  of  faith,  which  the 
apostle  has  collected  in  this  chapter.  You  would 
discover,  from  a  particular  examination  of  each  in- 
stance here  recorded,  that  the  leading  idea  in  this 
much  disputed  word,  is  reliance  upon  the  authority, 
or  confidence  in  the  testimony  of  another.  You 
would  find,  that  the  objects,  which  faith  embraces, 
are  more  or  less  numerous,  according  to  the  pre- 
vious cultivation  and  present  circumstances  of  the 
believer,  and  according  to  the  plans  of  Providence 
with  respect  to  him.  The  faith  of  Abel,  or  of  Noah 
was  not  less  real  or  valuable,  than  is  that  of  the  great- 
est saint,  who  lives  under  the  dispensation  of  the 


134 


gospel,  though  the  faith  of  the  christian  embraces  a 
much  greater  variety  of  objects,  and  is  suited  to  a 
much  more  enlarged  comprehension.  In  general, 
with  respect  to  God,  it  embraces  whatever  he  has 
been  pleased  to  communicate  of  himself  in  the  age 
in  which  the  believer  happens  to  live. 

If  I  should  attempt  to  enumerate  to  you  some  of 
the  more  important  truths,  which  you  now  receive  by 
the  aid  of  this  all- operating  principle,  I  should  first 
carry  your  imaginations  back  to  that  memorable  point 
of  time,  when  God  said,  Let  there  be  light,  and  there 
was  light ;  and  I  would  ask  you,  upon  what  do  you 
rest  the  assurance  you  feel,  that  this  charming  scene 
of  nature  is  the  product  of  the  hand  of  God  ?  Wert 
thou  present,  when  the  foundations  of  the  earth  were 
fastened  ?  Wert  thou  in  the  joyous  circle,  when  the 
morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  new-born 
sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  ?  Knowest  thou  this,  be- 
cause thou  wast  then  born,  or  because  the  number  of 
thy  days  is  great?  No,  my  friends.  By  faith,  says  the 
apostle,  we  understand,  that  the  worlds  were  framed 
by  the  word  of  God  ;  so  that  the  things  which  are 
seen  were  not  made  of  any  thing  which  now  appears. 
Though  the  surest  deductions  of  reason  confirm  the 
opinion,  that  this  universe  is  the  product  of  a  great 
and  intelligent  author,  yet  it  was  not  reasoning  which 
discovered  this  truth.  It  was  to  the  Jewish  nation — 
it  is  still  to  those,  who  are  not  able  to  comprehend 
the  demonstration,  by  which  it  is  sometimes  support- 
ed— and,  universally,  I  may  add,  to  the  early  capaci- 


135 

ty,  it  must  ever  be  an  article  of  faith,  received  upon 
authority. 

By  faith  we  dwell  upon  those  events,  which  are 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  our  sensible  experience.  In 
profane  history  we  receive  such  facts  with  unhesitat- 
ing confidence,  and  reason  from  them  without  suspi- 
cion. Why,  then,  should  we  not  exercise  the  same 
confidence,  when  we  contemplate  events  in  the  history 
of  God's  especial  dealings,  events,  which  have  also 
the  additional  support  of  prophecy  and  miracle  ?  By 
religious  faith  we  are  introduced  into  the  counsels  of 
omniscience,  and  see  the  hand  of  almighty  power 
guiding,  with  unvaried  wisdom,  the  wonderful  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  world.  Faith  transports  us  back  to 
that  event,  which,  in  the  history  of  the  revolutions  of 
our  globe,  stands  next  in  dignity  to  the  wondrous 
work  of  creation.  We  see  the  fountains  of  the  great 
deep  broken  up,  and  the  waters  bursting  the  bounds, 
within  which  the  hand  of  omnipotence  had  hitherto 
circumscribed  them,  and  rising  to  overtake  the  re- 
treating wickedness  of  the  antediluvian  age.  We 
see  the  wide  waste  of  waters  successively  submerg- 
ing the  shores,  the  trees,  the  towers,  the  eminences 
to  which  the  affrighted  inhabitants  had  climbed,  and* 
at  length,  the  original  and  everlasting  mountains  of 
the  globe,  until  all  the  features  of  this  ball  of  earth 
are  no  longer  to  be  discerned  in  the  one  vast  expanse 
of  fluid.  The  world,  just  now  so  gay  with  vegeta- 
tion, so  fruitful  in  life,  and  so  tumultuous  with  plea- 
sure and  corruption,  disappears  with  its  astonished 


136 


inhabitants ;  and  nought  is  left,  of  all  this  scene  of 
things,  but  God  and  his  faithful  servants.  Noah  and 
his  family  are  alone  preserved  of  all  the  intelligent 
creatures  of  his  power,  and  they  float  securely  over 
the  ruins  and  desolation  of  a  drowning  world.  Faith 
opens  to  us  the  door  of  the  ark,  and  we  enter,  and 
look  out  upon  the  consternation,  which  surrounds  us. 
Men,  beasts,  birds,  and  all  living  beings  on  the 
earth  successively  disappear,  while  within,  this  man 
of  piety  serenely  collects  around  him  his  beloved 
family,  and  waits,  without  alarm,  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  purposes  of  heaven,  buoyed  up  by  the 
elastick  energy  of  his  faith  in  the  promises  of  his 
maker. 

By  faith  we  follow  the  dispensations  of  Heaven 
towards  the  descendants  of  Noah.  We  see  Abra- 
ham, that  venerable  father  of  the  faithful,  leaving  his 
native  land.  Not  knowing  whither  to  direct  his  aged 
steps,  he  is  led  by  the  unseen  hand  of  his  ever  kind 
and  ever  faithful  God.  From  this  gray-headed  and 
feeble  patriarch,  "  already  as  good  as  dead,"  behold 
generations  innumerable  issuing  forth  to  people  the 
newly  restored  earth,  and  multiplying  as  the  stars  of 
heaven.  Isaac  is  born,  and  already  his  father  antici- 
pates the  fulfilment  of  the  magnificent  promise  he  had 
received  from  God ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  his  expecta- 
tions, he  is  commanded  to  sacrifice  this  solitary  de- 
scendant. He  is  bound  to  the  altar,  the  knife  is  tak- 
en, and  the  father's  hand  is  uplifted  to  slay  him.  God 
interposes,  and  he   lives  again;  and  with  him  revive 


137 


generations  yet  to  come  ;  and  future  nations,  starting 
into  life,  are  again  blessed  in  his  seed. 

By  faith  Ave  follow  the  rapidly  increasing  posteri- 
ty of  Jacob  through  the  interesting  narrative  of  their 
family  history.     What  occurrences,  what  changes  in 
the  drama  of  Joseph's  life,  all  proclaiming  the  wis- 
dom of  heaven  !    What  calamities,  what  sorrows, 
what  reverses  of  fortune,  what  joys,  what  unexpect- 
ed disclosures,  and  what  a  touching  catastrophe ! 
Here  are  the  descendants  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren, 
who,  after  the  death  of  their  protector,  are  depressed 
into  the  lowest  condition  of  Egyptian  slaves.  Yet  this 
is  the  germ  of  a  nation,  whom  God  has  chosen  to  be 
the  depositaries  of  the  sublimest  truths,  which  can 
interest  mankind,  and  whom  he  has  also  chosen  to 
transmit  to  future  ages  the  knowledge  of  his  wonders 
and  providence.    By  faith  we  are  interested  in  the 
history  of  this  extraordinary  race.    We  trace  their 
improvements  and  their  declensions,  their  dangers 
and  their  security,  their  revolt  and  their  return.  By 
faith  we  see  them  rising,  under  Solomon,  into  conse- 
quence and  power.    Jerusalem  becomes  the  metropo- 
lis of  the  east,  Solomon  the  most  splendid  monarch 
of  his  age,  and  every  individual  Jew  feels  something 
of  the  importance,  which  naturally  belongs  to  a  citi- 
zen of  the  most  favoured  nation  of  the  earth.    A  few 
years  pass  over,  and  this  proud  people  are  diminish- 
ed to  a  little  band  of  exiles,  who  are  driven,  down- 
east  and  humbled,  into  a  foreign  realm.    The  vain 
Hebrew,  who  once  shone  in  the  glittering  court  of 
18 


138 


Solomon's  successors,  and  worshipped  in  the  gor- 
geous temple  at  Jerusalem,  is  sitting  under  the  wil- 
lows, a  poor  captive,  by  the  streams  of  Babylon,  and 
singing  the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land,  accompanied 
by  the  notes  of  his  melancholy  harp.  But  they  are 
not  to  become  extinct.  The  promise  of  God  stand- 
eth  sure.  They  are  yet  reserved  for  great  distinc- 
tions. Prophecy  has  pointed  steadily,  though  ob- 
scurely, to  a  w  onderful  personage,  who  is  to  appear 
among  them,  and  set  up  a  kingdom,  which  shall 
never  be  destroyed.  They  return  to  their  native 
land,  guided  by  the  same  providence  which  dispersed 
them ;  and  through  years  of  revolution,  and  subsequent 
subjection,  present  to  the  eye  of  faith  the  wondrous 
spectacle  of  a  great  people,  once  so  faithless,  so  fickle, 
so  obstinate  as  they  had  been,  now  waiting  patiently, 
with  a  kind  of  miraculous  expectation,  which  had 
seized  every  breast  in  Judea,  for  the  appearance  of 
a  predicted  deliverer. 

Faith  now  transports  us  to  the  little  town  of  Beth- 
lehem, which  is  to  give  birth  to  the  Messiah.  We 
see  the  bright  host  of  angels  illuminating  the  fields 
around  this  favoured  village,  and,  amid  the  stillness 
of  the  night,  we  hear  them  praising  God,  and  saying, 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  and 
good  will  towards  men,  for  unto  you  is  born  this  day, 
in  the  city  of  David,  a  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the 
Lord.  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away 
the  sins  of  the  world  ! 

It  is  faith,  which  discloses  to  us  the  supernatural 
character,  and  teaches  us  the  marvellous  history  of 


13U 


Jesus.  It  leads  us  through  the  miraculous  tissue  of 
his  short  and  suffering  life  on  earth.  It  places  us  at 
the  foot  of  his  cross,  and  we  see  this  life  of  the  world, 
this  joy  of  nations,  the  hope  of  Israel,  and  the  light 
of  unborn  and  unnumbered  generations,  expiring  in 
the  pangs  of  an  accursed  crucifixion.  We  follow  the 
body  to  the  tomb.  Faith  shows  us  the  faithful  wo- 
men, coming  with  their  spices  and  ointments  to  em- 
balm the  precious  remains  of  their  friend.  There 
is  Mary,  and  Martha,  and  Mary  Magdalene,  weep- 
ing at  the  sepulchre.  They  enter  and  look,  but  Jesus 
is  not  there.  They  call  to  us,  christians,  Come,  see 
the  place  where  the  Lord  lay.  He  is  not  there,  but 
he  has  risen.  We  follow  them,  with  impatience,  to 
the  plains  of  Bethany.  There  Jesus  meets  them, 
and  behold,  while  he  is  spreading  forth  his  arms  and 
blessing  them,  a  bright  cloud  receives  him  out  of 
their  sight.  But  why  stand  ye  gazing  up  into  hea- 
ven? This  same  Jesus,  who  is  taken  up  from 
you  into  heaven,  shall  so  come  in  like  manner,  as  ye 
have  seen  him  go  up  into  heaven. 

Faith  shows  us  the  infant  church  struggling  with 
persecution,  interests  us  in  all  its  changes,  its  depres- 
sions and  its  power,  its  declension  and  its  reforma- 
tion, till  we  see  at  length,  from  the  handful  of  disci- 
ples, who  stood  gazing  in  astonishment  at  their 
master  ascending  into  heaven,  there  is  sprung  an  in- 
numerable multitude  of  christians,  of  all  people,  and 
nations,  and  languages ;  and  the  religion,  which  once 
found  shelter  in  the  breasts  of  only  a  few  unlettered 
Jews,  is  now  the  religion  of  the  civilized  world. 


140 


These  are  some  of  the  past  events  in  the  dispensa- 
tions of  God's  providence,  to  which  faith  transports 
us  back  through  the  long  vista  of  a  thousand  years. 
How  great  and  interesting  are  they,  when  compared 
with  the  ordinary  occurrences  of  history  !  But  the 
invisible  things  of  the  passing  moment  are  presented 
to  us,  by  faith,  in  a  clear  and  affecting  light.  We 
learn,  habitually,  to  see  God,  the  father  of  all,  sit- 
ting undisturbed  at  the  head  of  his  works,  where 
nothing  escapes  his  notice,  or  surprises  his  precaution. 
The  hairs  of  our  heads,  we  believe,  are  numbered  by 
his  omniscience ;  and  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground, 
but  he  discovers  it ;  not  a  lily  spreads  its  solitary 
beauties  to  the  sun,  but  he  clothes  it  in  its  colours  ; 
not  a  blade  of  grass  withers  unperceived  on  the 
field. 

What  though,  in  our  times,  empires  are  daily 
blotted  out  of  being,  and  the  constitution  of  society 
seems  labouring  with  convulsions ;  though  the  long 
established  boundaries  of  nations  are  changing  with 
the  changes  of  the  moon,  and  the  records  of  human 
transactions  present  nothing  but  unexpected  eleva- 
tions and  depressions,  triumphs  and  defeats ;  though 
the  astonishing  march  of  events  baffles  all  your  cal- 
culations, and  sets  at  nought  your  sagacity ;  now, 
now  is  the  moment,  when  faith  will  bear  you  away  to 
the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High,  and  cover  you 
with  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty.  She  assures  us, 
there  is  one  being,  to  whom  all  this  mysterious  and 
f  omplicated  system  of  vicissitudes  is  plain,  and  who, 


141 


by  the  simple  motions  of  his  will,  guides  the  con- 
flicting movements  of  matter  and  mind  steadily  to  the 
conclusions  he  desires;  and  who  comprehends  the 
grand  catastrophes  of  national  and  imperial  contests 
with  the  same  facility  that  he  discerns  the  natural 
termination  of  an  individual's  life.  To  the  counsels 
of  such  a  being  as  this  faith  admits  us ;  and  where 
she  cannot  make  us  comprehend,  she  gives  us  con- 
fidence. We  trust,  and  we  are  safe ;  for  though  we 
see  no  further  than  to  assure  us,  that  God's  views 
are  unobscured  by  distance,  and  his  throne  unshak- 
en by  revolutions,  it  is  enough. 

But  the  future  realities,  which  faith  discloses,  are 
yet  more  interesting,  more  inspiriting,  more  awaken- 
ing and  awful.  Some  of  them  contain  consolations, 
which  ages  of  sorrow  would  not  be  able  to  exhaust, 
and  others  bring  with  them  terrors,  which  ages  of 
security  in  vice  could  never  entirely  efface. 

Faith  discloses  to  our  view  the  future  condition  of 
society,  and  cherishes  the  delightful  hope,  that  the 
time  is  approaching,  when  the  mild  influences  of  the 
gospel  of  Jesus  shall  subdue  the  passions  of  men, 
soften  the  rudeness  of  the  uncivilized,  assuage  the  re- 
sentments of  the  powerful,  break  the  rod  of  the  op- 
pressor, and  lift  the  lowly  from  the  dust ;  when  the 
lamb  shall  lie  down  by  the  side  of  the  lion,  and  a 
little  child  shall  lead  them  together ;  when  knowl- 
edge shall  enlighten,  virtue  ennoble,  prosperity  cease 
to  corrupt,  and  peace  to  enervate  the  human  race. 

Faith  transports  us,  also,  beyond  the  successive  gen- 
erations, which  now  people  this  portion  of  the  world, 


142 


to  the  day,  when  the  caverns  of  the  earth  are  break- 
ing up,  and  the  tombs  are  pouring  forth  their  inhab- 
itants, when  «the  sea  renders  up  the  dead  that  are  in 
her  vast  repositories,  and  the  races  of  men,  who  have 
slept  for  ages  in  forgetfulness,  awake  to  appear  be- 
fore God.  Faith  places  us  in  the  midst  of  this  vast 
assembly  of  the  reanimated.  Small  and  great  are 
there.  The  books  are  opened,  and  the  world  are 
judged,  and  pass  off  on  each  hand  towards  the  region 
of  their  final  destination.  Beyond,  we  see  an  innu- 
merable company  of  angels,  and  the  spirits  of  the 
just  made  perfect,  and  Jesus  the  mediator  of  the 
new  covenant ;  and,  throned  in  light  inaccessible,  we 
dare  even  to  lift  our  thoughts  to  the  seat  of  Jehovah. 
To  the  eye  of  faith  hell,  also,  is  open,  and  destruc- 
tion hath  no  covering.  But  further  faith  fears  to 
carry  us;  and  we  find,  too  soon  for  our  impatient 
spirits,  that  the  provinces  of  faith  and  imagination 
are  distinct,  and  that  it  is  too  great  temerity  to  ven- 
ture to  confound  them. 

Thus,  my  friends,  I  have  attempted  to  enumerate 
some  of  the  most  remarkable  facts,  which  faith  pre- 
sents to  our  conceptions.  You  see,  it  is  the  province 
of  this  principle  of  our  minds  to  impress  us  with  the 
reality  of  things  invisible,  whether  in  past  scenes,  in 
present  transactions,  or  in  the  fathomless  abyss  of 
futurity.  It  is  truly  the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen. 

If  the  human  mind  had  been  constructed  without 
a  principle  like  this,  it  would  have  been  always  em- 


143 


ployed  about  tbe  mere  objects  of  the  senses,  and  tbe 
present  consciousness  of  its  own  existence.  Tbe  hu- 
man faculties  could  never  have  been  improved,  and 
the  capacity  of  intelligence  would  have  been  forever 
shrunk  up  within  boundaries  as  narrow  as  those, 
which  limit  the  brutal  creation.  Let  us  bless  God, 
then,  that  he  has,  to  the  capabilities  of  the  human 
mind,  added  all  the  advantages  of  religious  faith,  so 
that  we  can  live  as  if  we  saw  things  which  are  in- 
visible, that  we  can  reap  delight  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  character,  triumph  in  the  past  displays  of 
his  wisdom,  trust  unreservedly  in  the  present  opera- 
tions of  his  hand,  and  enjoy  the  delights  of  religious 
anticipation.  By  this  principle  eternity  links  itself 
to  time,  and  there  is  no  chasm  in  our  existence.  Hea- 
ven joins  itself  to  earth ;  and  God,  the  grandest  ex- 
istence, about  which  our  faculties  can  employ  them- 
selves, is  no  longer  the  subject  of  our  bewildered 
reasoning,  or  the  unknown  object  of  our  fears,  but 
the  hope,  the  trust,  the  joy,  the  salvation  of  his  faith- 
ful  people. 


SERMON  IX. 


HEB.  xi.  I. 

NOW  FAITH  IS  THE  SUBSTANCE  OF  THINGS  HOPED   FOR,  THE 
EVIDENCE   OF   THINGS   NOT  SEEN. 

THE  next  point  we  are  to  consider,  according 
to  our  proposed  division  of  the  subject,  is  the  rea- 
sonableness of  religious  faith. 

It  is  a  common  artifice  of  those,  who  wish  to  de- 
preciate the  value  of  this  essential  principle  of  a 
christian's  life,  to  represent  faith  as  something  op- 
posed to  reason.  So  far  is  this  from  being  true,  that 
faith  is,  in  fact,  the  most  reasonable  thing  in  the  world ; 
and,  wherever  religion  is  not  concerned,  the  universal 
practice  of  mankind  evinces,  that  such  a  principle  is 
indispensable  to  the  most  common  exercise  of  the  un- 
derstanding, and  to  the  daily  conduct  of  life.  Faith 
is  reasonable,  because  it  is  the  involuntary  homage 
which  the  mind  pays  to  the  preponderance  of  evi- 
dence. Faith,  that  is  not  founded  on  testimony,  is  no 
longer  faith. 

You,  for  example,  believe  that  you  have  been  su- 
pernaturally  furnished  with  the  sentiments  you  enter- 


145 


tain,  but  if  you  cannot  explain  to  others  the  evidence 
on  which  you  rest  this  assurance,  be  not  surprised,  if 
they  continue  incredulous.  You  may  have  been  in- 
structed in  dreams,  or  been  favoured  with  happy 
visions  of  a  disordered  fancy,  which  have  impressed 
you  with  many  interesting,  and  even  rational  convic- 
tions, beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary  minds  ;  but  as 
you  offer  no  external  testimony  in  support  of  your 
imagined  consciousness,  you  must  not  expect  to  im- 
part your  confidence,  however  just  it  may  be,  to  those 
who  have  not  been  favoured  with  like  illuminations, 
and  perhaps  you  will  not  avoid  the  imputation  of  en- 
thusiasm. 

You  may  imagine  also,  that,  by  the  special  grace 
of  God,  a  living  principle  of  faith  has  been  at  some, 
former  time  communicated  to  your  mind,  previously 
to  which,  all  the  evidence  and  reasoning  in  the  world 
was  ineffectual  to  your  conversion.  This  may  be ; 
but  it  is  not  the  faith  of  which  we  are  discoursing, 
and  which  it  is  our  province  to  recommend  and  cor- 
roborate. As  such  faith  does  not  originate  in  the 
evidence  of  testimony,  we  could  not  increase  it  by 
the  usual  increase  of  probability.  Far  be  it  from  us 
to  deny,  that  you  may  cherish  some  of  the  most 
valuable  truths  in  religion,  and  even  feel  their  sancti- 
fying influence  upon  your  temper,  without  being  able 
to  exhibit  any  proper  evidence  on  which  you  receive 
them.  A  historian,  provided  with  a  few  data,  might, 
in  some  obscure  portion  of  his  annals,  imagine  and 
construct  a  narrative  not  very  remote  from  the  truth 
19 


146 


of  facts,  but  as  this  is  not  the  usual  way  of  writing 
history,  so  it  would  not  be  the  most  effectual  method 
of  enlightening  the  reader,  nor  of  obtaining  confi- 
dence and  credit. 

As  it  is  sitjjicient  evidence  only,  on  which  a  ration- 
al faith  can  be  supported,  so  if  the  whole  of  this  evi- 
dence is  intelligibly  presented  to  a  sound  under- 
standing, it  will  not  fail  to  command  belief.  An  eye, 
not  affected  by  disease,  easily  distinguishes  colours  ; 
and  we  unavoidably  believe  the  existence  of  the  ob- 
jects within  the  sphere  of  its  vision.  Now  the  laws 
of  moral  probability  are  just  as  sure  as  the  laws  of 
vision.  That  the  same  exhibition  of  facts,  or  the 
same  process  of  reasoning,  does  not  produce  equal 
conviction  on  different  minds,  is  not  more  surprising 
than  that  ^he  same  glasses  will  not  make  objects 
equally  distinct  to  eyes  differently  affected.  But  to 
conclude,  from  this  variety  of  effect,  that  the  objects 
presented  do  not  exist,  or  that  the  laws  of  vision  are  ill- 
founded  and  absurd,  would  be  no  more  unreasonable 
than  to  assume  the  folly  of  religious  faith,  or  to  doubt 
the  rational  conviction  of  a  pious  and  impartial  in- 
quirer, merely  because  the  whole  world  are  not  be- 
lievers. All  the  glasses  in  the  universe  will  not 
make  objects  discernible  by  an  eye  over  which  a  film 
has  grown ;  and  all  the  evidence  in  the  world  will 
sometimes  fail  to  subdue  the  prejudices  of  the  cor- 
rupt, or  to  arrest  the  attention  of  the  heedless.  Who 
sees  not,  that  on  subjects  of  politicks,  of  literature,  of 
common  speculation,  and  even  of  common  prudence, 


117 


some  men  are  feebly  affected  by  what  appears  to  us 
palpable  proof.  Facts  are  nothing  in  the  march  of 
party  spirit.  Probability  is  less  than  nothing  in  the 
encounter  with  passion  and  prejudice.  Surely,  then, 
it  is  not  extraordinary,  that  the  truths  of  religion  are 
rejected  by  one  man  with  contempt,  while  they  are 
embraced  by  another  with  enthusiasm. 

We  cannot  wonder,  that  the  evidences,  on  which 
our  christian  faith  is  built,  do  not  produce  universal 
conviction,  when  we  remember,  that  this  is  a  religion, 
which  contradicts  many  of  the  selfish  propensities  of 
the  heart,  and  is  at  war  with  all  the  lusts  to  which 
we  are  habitually  enslaved.  It  is  a  religion,  Avhich 
condemns  many  of  our  habits,  and  requires  us  to 
moderate  our  growing  attachment  to  a  world  we  can- 
not bear  to  leave ;  a  religion,  which  often  opposes  our 
passions,  which  shows  us  the  folly  of  our  fondest  ex- 
pectations, which  alarms  our  sleeping  fears,  under- 
values the  objects  of  our  estimation,  requires  the  sur- 
render of  our  prejudices,  and  makes  it  necessary  for 
us  to  be  in  readiness  to  yield  up  even  our  comforts 
and  our  life.  Astonishing  would  it  be,  indeed,  if  a 
system  like  this  should  command  universal  belief,  if 
prejudice  should  have  nothing  to  object,  captiousness 
nothing  to  cavil  at,  and  indifference  no  excuses.  As- 
tonishing, indeed,  would  it  be,  if  the  evidences  of  such 
a  revelation  should  be  received,  with  equal  facility, 
by  the  worldly  and  the  spiritual,  the  careless  and 
the  inquisitive,  the  proud  and  the  humble,  the  am- 
bitious and  the  unaspiring,  the  man  immersed  in 


148 

pleasure  and  dissipation,  and  the  man  who  has  been 
long  disciplined  in  the  school  of  disappointment  and 
affliction. 

Neither  is  religious  faith  unreasonable,  because  it 
includes  miraculous  events,  nor  because  it  embraces 
a  series  of  truths,  which  no  individual  reason  could 
have  ascertained,  or  of  which  it  may  not,  even  now, 
see  the  necessity.  It  is  on  this  account,  however, 
that  we  so  often  hear  faith  opposed  to  reason ;  but,  on 
the  same  principle,  faith  in  any  extraordinary  occur- 
rence would  be  opposed  to  reason.  The  only  objection 
to  the  credibility  of  miracles  is,  that  they  are  contrary 
to  general  experience  ;  for  to  say,  that  they  are  con- 
trary to  universal  experience ;  is  to  assume  the  very 
fact  in  question.  Because  they  are  supernatural,  no 
testimony,  it  is  maintained,  can  make  it  reasonable  to 
believe  them.  This  would  not  be  just,  even  if  the 
miracles  which  religious  faith  embraces  were  separate, 
insulated  facts,  which  had  no  connexions  with  any 
other  interesting  truths ;  much  less  when  they  make 
part  of  a  grand  system,  altogether  worthy  the  interpo- 
sition of  God  to  establish. 

The  extraordinary  nature  of  miraculous  facts,  con- 
sidered by  themselves,  is,  it  is  true,  a  presumption 
against  them,  but  a  presumption,  which  sufficient  testi- 
mony ought  as  fairly  to  remove,  it  does  remove  the 
previous  improbability  of  ordinal  /  facts,  not  super- 
natural. A  man,  born  and  living  within  the  tropicks, 
who  had  never  seen  water  congealed,  would  no  doubt 
think  it  a  very  strange  story,  if  a  traveller  from  the 


149 


north  should  assure  him,  that  the  same  substance, 
which  he  had  always  seen  liquid,  was  every  year,  in 
other  countries,  converted  into  a  solid  mass  capable  of 
sustaining  the  greatest  weights.  What  could  more 
decisively  contradict  all  the  experience  of  the  tropical 
inhabitant,  and  even  the  experience  of  those  with 
whom  he  had  always  been  connected?  Yet  should  we 
not  think  it  very  unreasonable,  if  he  should,  in  this 
case,  persist  in  discrediting  the  testimony  even  of  a 
single  man,  whose  veracity  he  had  no  reason  to  sus- 
pect, and  much  more,  if  he  should  persist  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  concurrent  and  continually  increasing  tes- 
timony of  numbers  ?  Let  this  be  an  illustration  of 
the  reasonableness  of  your  faith  in  miracles. 

As  it  respects  the  credibility  of  revelation,  you 
have  this  alternative.  Will  you  believe,  that  the  pure 
system  of  christian  faith,  which  appeared  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago,  in  one  of  the  obscurest  regions 
of  the  Roman  empire,  at  the  moment  of  the  highest 
mental  cultivation  and  of  the  lowest  moral  degeneracy, 
which  superseded  at  once  all  the  curious  fabricks  of 
pagan  philosophy,  which  spread  almost  instantane- 
ously through  the  civilized  world  in  opposition  to  the 
prejudices,  the  pride  and  the  persecution  of  the  times, 
which  has  already  had  the  most  beneficial  influence 
on  society,  and  been  the  source  of  almost  all  the  mel- 
ioration of  the  human  character,  and  which  is  now 
the  chief  support  of  the  harmony,  the  domestick  hap- 
piness, the  morals  and  the  intellectual  improvement 
ef  the  best  part  of  the  world— will  you  believe,  I  say, 


150 


that  this  system  originated  in  the  unaided  reflections 
of  twelve  Jewish  fishermen  on  the  sea  of  Galilee,  with 
the  son  of  a  carpenter  at  their  head  ?  Or  will  you  ad- 
mit a  supposition,  which  solves  all  the  wonders  of  this 
case,  which  accounts  at  once  for  the  perfection  of  the 
system,  and  the  miracle  of  its  propagation, — that  Je- 
sus was,  as  he  professed  to  he,  the  prophet  of  God, 
and  that  his  apostles  were,  as  they  declared,  empow- 
ered to  perform  the  miracles,  which  subdued  the  in- 
credulity of  the  world.  I  appeal  to  you,  ye  depart- 
ed masters  of  pagan  wisdom,  Plato,  Socrates,  Cice- 
ro, which  of  these  alternatives  is  the  most  rational, 
the  most  worthy  of  a  philosophical  assent?  Your 
systems  have  passed  away,  like  the  light  clouds, 
which  chase  one  another  over  the  hemisphere ;  but 
the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  sun  of  righteousness, 
pursues  its  equal  and  luminous  career,  uninterrupted 
and  unobscured.  Surely,  if  a  miracle  of  the  New 
Testament  is  incredible,  what  will  you  say  of  the 
enormous  faith  of  a  man,  who  believes  in  that  mon- 
ster of  improbability,  which  we  have  described,  the 
simply  human  origin  and  progress  of  Christianity  ? 

Neither  is  religious  faith  unreasonable,  because  it 
brings  us  acquainted  with  truths,  which  our  indivi- 
dual reasonings  would  not  have  ascertained,  or  which 
far  transcend  the  previous  conceptions  of  our  minds. 
Indeed,  it  is  absurd  to  suppose,  that  God  has  inter- 
rupted the  order  of  nature  to  inform  us  of  nothing 
but  what  we  knew  before,  or  might  as  well  have 
known  w  ithout  his  interference.    Besides,  if  these 


151 


truths  were  attainable  to  the  few  who  think,  by  a 
long  process  of  inquiry,  and  even  to  the  many,  after 
some  slow  advances  in  the  intellectual  condition  of 
society,  still  it  would  be  worthy  of  God  to  anticipate 
this  gradual  discovery,  because,  from  the  condition 
of  humanity,  truths  interesting  to  thousands,  but 
within  the  actual  reach  of  few,  must,  in  order  to  be 
effectual,  be  received  upon  authority. 

But,  because  you,  in  your  solitary  reasonings,  have 
not  been  able  to  attain  to  those  conclusions,  which 
others  have  long  since  embraced  by  religious  faith, 
will  you,  on  this  account,  maintain,  that  the  faith 
of  the  other  is  irrational  ?  Would  it  not  be  presump- 
tuous in  an  ignorant  man  to  deny,  in  opposition  to 
the  authority  of  those  instructed  observers,  whose 
knowledge  he  has  reason  to  admit,  that  Saturn  is 
surrounded  with  a  ring,  merely  because,  with  his 
naked  eye,  he  has  in  vain  tried  to  discover  such  an 
appearance  ?  Though  it  is  not  improbable,  that  this 
man,  in  some  future  and  far  remote  stage  of  his  ex- 
istence, may  be  transported  to  this  distant  sphere,  and 
actually  observe  this  circle,  which  he  will  not  now 
credit  on  the  testimony  of  the  astronomer,  yet  can 
he  be  justified  in  continuing  incredulous,  because  he 
hopes  for  this  enlargement  of  his  powers  ?  Further, 
if  this  man  should  invariably  neglect  every  opportu- 
nity, which  was  presented  to  him,  of  looking  through 
a  telescope,  or  should  obstinately  persist  in  his  in- 
credulity, after  the  laws  of  vision,  the  operation  of 
glasses,  and  nature  of  the  planetary  system  had  been 


152 


sufficiently  explained  to  him,  should  we  hesitate  to 
pronounce  him  presumptuous  or  mad?  Should  we 
not  leave  him  to  his  ignorance  and  self-sufficiency ; 
and  smile  to  find  such  a  man  undertaking  to  pour 
contempt  upon  the  credulous  astronomer,  who  be- 
lieves in  the  gross  absurdity  of  a  circle  round  a  plan- 
et, which,  this  skeptick  might  safely  say,  nobody  had 
ever  seen? 

Thus  we  may  fairly  conclude,  that  it  is  one  of  the 
highest  acts  of  reason  to  believe,  upon  proper  authori- 
ty, many  truths,  which  we  cannot  directly  deduce  from 
our  former  knowledge,  or  which  we  find  it  difficult  to 
connect  with  any  of  our  customary  conclusions.  It  is 
to  be  expected,  that  revelation  should  furnish  us  with 
many  propositions,  of  which  we  had  not  before  con- 
ceived, for  revelation  is  to  the  world  at  large,  what 
education  is  to  the  individual.  A  child  must  receive 
a  thousand  truths  upon  authority,  which  may  be  the 
subject  of  future  explanation,  or  which  may  answer 
their  purpose,  even  without  any  explanation.  He 
sees  not,  it  is  true,  the  necessity  of  learning  rules,  of 
which  he  cannot  understand  the  reason  ;  but  the  in- 
structer  well  knows,  that,  in  order  to  make  any  pro- 
gress in  his  studies,  he  must  receive,  at  first,  certain 
statements  implicitly,  and  wait  for  higher  advances  in 
knowledge,  before  the  reason  and  importance  of  this 
elementary  faith  can  be  discovered  to  his  understand- 
ing. And  what  are  we,  my  friends,  in  view  of  the 
comprehensive  wisdom  of  God,  but  children  in  the 
earliest  stages  of  being  ?  What  is  the  great  commu- 


15$ 

uity  of  christians,  but  one  of  the  innumerable  schools 
in  the  vast  plan,  which  God  has  instituted  for  the 
education  of  various  intelligences?  The  law  of  Mo- 
ses, we  are  told  by  the  apostle,  was  but  a  school- 
master to  teach  a  single  nation  the  alphabet  of  relig- 
ious knowledge;  and  what  is  Christianity,  but  another, 
though  a  more  advanced  elementary  system,  adapted 
to  the  comprehension  and  improvement  of  the  whole 
human  race  ?  Faith  alone  gains  us  admission  to  its 
advantages  ;  and  though  there  are  doctrines  in  its 
pages,  which  at  present  baffle  much  of  the  inquisitive* 
ness  of  an  active  mind,  and  appear  extraordinary  to 
an  intellect,  proud  of  its  partial  discoveries,  yet  be- 
ware of  rejecting  them,  lest  those  very  portions  of 
your  religion,  which  now  most  excruciate  your  un- 
derstanding, and  exercise  your  faith,  should  prove 
essential  to  your  improvement  in  the  higher  courses 
of  spiritual  and  intellectual  instruction.  Jesus  is  not 
a  master,  who  requires  you  to  believe  any  thing,  of 
which  you  see  clearly  the  absurdity ;  though  his  can- 
did disciples  receive  much,  of  which  they  know  not 
the  reason,  and  of  which,  at  first,  they  did  not  see  all 
the  applications,  the  tendencies,  and  the  importance. 

Having  thus  seen,  that  faith  is  a  principle,  on  which 
wfe  act  in  all  the  affairs  of  common  prudence,  a  prin- 
ciple, w  hich  lies  at  the  root  of  every  species  of  edu- 
cation, scientifick,  moral  and  religious,  a  principle, 
without  w  hich  the  business  of  human  life  could  not 
go  on  for  a  single  day,  we  will  now  venture  to  assert, 
that,  of  every  species  of  incredulity,  religious  unbe* 
30 


154 


lief  is  infinitely  the  most  irrational.  And  why  ?  Be- 
cause the  stake  is  so  immense.  Between  the  two  pro- 
positions, that  the  gospel  is  true,  and  that  it  is  false, 
what  a  fearful  chasm  !  The  unsettled  reason  hovers 
over  it  in  dismay.  I  say,  that  religious  faith  is  infi- 
nitely reasonable,  because  the  objects  it  embraces 
are  of  such  unparalleled  grandeur  and  consequence. 
Whenever,  in  the  course  of  your  business,  a  prospect 
of  extraordinary  gain  presents  itself,  you  are  fairly 
authorized  to  make  immediate  provision  to  avail 
yourself  of  it,  upon  a  degree  of  probability,  which, 
in  common  cases,  and  for  common  profits,  would  be 
called,  at  least,  uncertainty.  Here,  however,  your 
faith  would  be  wise  in  verging  strongly  towards  pre- 
sumption. Again,  if  you  had  received  a  hint  of  the 
possible  approach  of  some  dreadful  evil,  would  you 
not  think  yourself  justified  in  using  the  utmost  care 
and  labour  to  avoid  it,  upon  a  degree  of  information 
and  assurance,  which,  in  ordinary  cases,  you  would 
hardly  think  worthy  of  your  consideration?  What 
think  you,  then,  of  the  loss  of  an  immortal  soul?  And 
what  think  you  of  the  gain  of  eternity  ?  Is  it  impos- 
sible, is  it  incredible,  nay,  is  it  improbable  ?  If  it  is 
even  supposeable,  that  there  is  any  thing  beyond 
these  objects  of  our  senses — if  our  faith  has  led  us  so 
far  as  to  conclude,  that  there  is  a  God,  and  waits  to 
believe,  that  this  God  has  interposed  to  assure  us,  that 
the  relation  of  accountableness  to  him  shall  never  be 
dissolved,  not  even  by  a  change,  dreadful  as  death 
itself,— if  it  is  supposeable,  that  a  world,  which  is 


155 


now  invisible,  may  one  day  burst  upon  our  vision, 
and  if  in  that  world  our  ultimate  happiness  or  misery 
are  to  be  found,  surely  it  is  an  act  of  the  highest 
reason,  as  well  as  of  the  most  ordinary  prudence,  to 
determine,  in  relation  to  a  world  of  such  inconceiva- 
ble interest,  even  upon  much  less  evidence  than  we 
usually  require  in  those  ordinary  transactions,  whose 
consequences  terminate  in  this  life.  For  we  have  al- 
ready shown  you,  that  the  principle  of  faith,  on 
which  we  frame  our  conduct,  with  reference  to  the 
futurities  of  this  earthly  scene,  is,  in  its  nature,  the 
same  with  that  on  which  we  would  persuade  you  to 
act,  with  respect  to  the  grand  futurities  of  a  life  to 
come.  If,  indeed,  your  belief  or  unbelief  could,  for 
a  moment,  affect  these  sublime  truths  and  these  ap- 
proaching events,  it  would  perhaps  be  lawful  to  hes- 
itate long  and  ponder  deeply  ;  but,  standing  as  we 
do,  on  the  brink  of  eternity,  if  there  is  any  evidence 
of  facts  and  doctrines  relating  to  it,  it  is  madness  to 
continue  to  reject  the  system,  which  contains  them, 
merely  because  they  have  not  the  evidence  of  sense 
and  consciousness,  when  the  very  nature  of  the  case 
admits  nothing  but  probability  and  faith. 


SERMON  X. 


HEB.  xi.  I. 

NOW   FAITH   IS  THE   SUBSTANCE  OF  THINGS  HOPED  FOR,  THE 
EVIDENCE  OF   THINGS   NOT  SEEN. 

HAVING  considered  the  objects,  and  the  reason- 
ableness of  religious  faith,  it  now  remains  to  say 
something  of  its  importance. 

The  valne  of  religious  faith  principally  results 
from  two  circumstances — from  the  fears  it  excites, 
and  from  the  consolations  it  affords. 

In  the  ordinary  conduct  of  government,  and  to  the 
well-being  of  society,  some  kind  of  faith  is  essential. 
Belief  in  the  superintendence  of  invisible  powers  is 
not  peculiar  to  religion.  It  is  found  in  every  man, 
who  conscientiously  submits  to  the  government  under 
which  he  lives ;  for  how  few  of  the  subjects  of  any 
extensive  empire  have  ever  seen  their  rulers  ?  Their 
authority,  their  edicts,  their  measures,  nay,  their  very 
existence,  are  almost  exclusively  objects  of  faith. 
Suppose  the  assassin  were  to  fear  nothing  but  the  in- 
strument of  punishment,  or  the  thief  were  permitted 


157 


to  demand  a  strict  demonstration  of  the  authority  of 
the  officer  who  arrested  him,  think  you  society  would 
long  sustain  the  consequences  of  so  great  incredulity? 
Every  man  would  become  his  own  avenger,  and  we 
should  revert  to  the  barbarous  independence  of  uni- 
versal democracy.  If,  too,  the  sober  part  only  of  the 
community  should  require,  that  every  law  should  be 
promulgated  in  their  hearing,  or  that  their  rulers 
should  constantly  live  under  their  ocular  inspec- 
tion, it  is  easy  to  foresee,  that  the  aifairs  of  human 
society  would  fall  into  the  utmost  confusion.  We 
must,  therefore,  in  the  ordinary  state  of  society,  live, 
as  seeing  those  that  are  invisible. 

The  fear,  which  faith  awakens,  is  the  foundation 
of  the  most  necessary  prudence.  It  is  faith,  which 
warns  us  of  the  invisible  and  approaching  misfor- 
tunes, to  which  we  are  daily  exposed ;  it  is  faith, 
which  keeps  up  a  continual,  and  sometimes  painful 
interest  in  the  dangers,  which  threaten  the  communi- 
ty. Without  this  we  should  rush  as  inconsiderately 
into  the  abode  of  foreign  pestilence,  as  we  now  walk 
the  streets  of  our  own  city  ;  and  be  as  unprepared  for 
an  approaching  war,  as  for  an  impending  earthquake. 
If  we  were  to  wait,  till  we  could  satisfy  our  own  per- 
sonal experience,  in  regard  to  some  of  the  most  com- 
mon evils  of  life,  we  should  find,  that  our  ruin  was 
accomplished,  ere  the  remedy  was  provided.  The  life 
of  children  is  a  continual  exercise  of  faith.  The  pru- 
dence of  parents  is  employed  in  foreseeing  dangers, 
which  the  short-sightedness  of  the  child  must  believe 


158 


upon  authority.  Without  filial  confidence,  which  is 
only  another  name  for  faith,  not  one  of  the  genera- 
tions of  men  could  hardly  have  reached  the  maturity 
of  manhood  ;  each  successive  race  would  profit  noth- 
ing from  the  experience  of  its  predecessors ;  and  even 
if  it  were  possible  to  continue  the  human  species 
without  a  principle  of  faith,  the  world  would  have 
remained,  to  the  present  day,  in  a  state  of  infantile 
ignorance,  exposure  and  imbecility.  What  then  !  is 
it  of  so  much  importance,  that  the  years  of  minority 
should  be  so  carefully  provided  with  this  principle 
to  secure  it  against  the  evils  of  present  inexperience  ; 
and  is  it  of  none,  that  the  full-grown  understanding 
should  be  admonished  of  the  alarming  disclosures, 
Avhich  another  world  will  make  of  a  retributive  pow- 
er? Is  it  of  no  importance,  that  the  conscience  of 
the  wicked  should  be  awakened,  before  his  senses  tell 
him,  that  he  is  in  anguish  ?  Shall  the  narrow  policy 
of  civil  government,  and  the  feebleness  of  temporal 
punishments,  be  left  to  maintain,  unsupported,  the 
order  of  society  ?  Is  it  of  so  much  consequence,  that, 
while  he  lives  here,  man  should  be  aware  of  his  mor- 
tality, and  be  provided  against  death,  the  inevitable 
and  universal  lot  of  mortal  creatures  ;  and  of  none, 
that  he  should  suspect  his  immortality,  and  extend 
his  views  to  the  tribunal  of  his  Judge  ?  Shall  man 
tremble  so  much  at  the  thought  of  dying  ;  and  know 
nothing  of  the  dread  of  punishment  ?  Is  it  of  no  im- 
portance for  the  selfish  man  to  know,  that,  by  the  in- 
terested pleasures  in  which  he  is  absorbed,  he  is 


surely  defeating  his  own  aims,  however  successful 
they  may  have  been  ?  Shall  the  indolent,  the  luxu- 
rious, the  dead  in  sensuality,  the  avaricious,  the 
hard-hearted,  go  on  accumulating  wrath,  and  hard- 
ening their  consciences  by  unbelief?  Because  we 
cannot  be  transported  to  the  regions  of  future  suf- 
fering, and  witness  the  intensity  of  the  torment, 
shall  we  rush,  with  all  our  sins  upon  our  head, 
into  that  community  of  wo,  and  learn  first  by  ex- 
perience what  we  would  not  receive  upon  credit  ? 
Thank  God  !  that  such  is  the  want,  which  individu- 
als and  society  feel  of  a  principle  like  this,  that  the 
imagination  supplies  it,  where  the  reason  cannot  at- 
tain to  undoubting  conviction.  Legislators  have  al- 
ways invented  something,  like  what  revelation  dis- 
closes ;  and  the.  barbarous  faith  of  the  early  ages  has 
supplied,  in  almost  every  country,  something,  which 
has  served  the  purposes  of  providence,  till  the  culti- 
vated mind  w  as  ready  for  the  fulness  of  God's  com- 
munications. 

In  the  second  place,  the  value  of  faith  may  be  es- 
timated from  the  consolations  it  affords. 

Who  would  look  back  upon  the  history  of  the 
world  with  the  eye  of  incredulity,  after  having  once 
read  it  with  the  eye  of  faith  ?  To  the  man  of  faith 
it  is  the  story  of  God's  operations.  To  the  unbe- 
liever it  is  only  the  record  of  the  strange  sports  of  a 
race  of  agents,  as  uncontrolled,  as  they  are  unaccount- 
able. To  the  man  of  faith  every  portion  of  history 
is  part  of  a  vast  plan,  conceived,  ages  ago,  in  the 


160 


mind  of  omnipotence,  which  has  been  fitted  precise* 
ly  to  the  period  it  was  intended  to  occupy.  The 
whole  series  of  events  forms  a  magnificent  and 
symmetrical  fabrick  to  the  eye  of  pious  contempla- 
tion ;  and  though  the  dome  be  in  the  clouds,  and  the 
top,  from  its  loftiness,  be  indiscernible  to  mortal  vis- 
ion, yet  the  foundations  are  so  deep  and  solid,  that 
we  are.  sure  they  are  intended  to  support  something 
permanent  and  grand.  To  the  skeptick  all  the  events 
of  all  the  ages  of  the  world  are  but  a  scattered 
crowd  of  useless  and  indigested  materials.  In  his 
mind  all  is  darkness,  all  is  incomprehensible.  The 
light  of  prophecy  illuminates  not  to  him  the  obscurity 
of  ancient  annals.  He  sees  in  them  neither  design 
nor  operation,  neither  tendencies  nor  conclusions. 
To  him  the  wonderful  knowledge  of  one  people  is 
jnst  as  interesting,  as  the  desperate  ignorance  of  an- 
other. In  the  deliverance,  which  God  has  sometimes 
wrought  for  the  oppressed,  he  sees  nothing  but  the 
fact ;  and  in  the  oppression  and  decline  of  haughty 
empires,  nothing  but  the  common  accidents  of  national 
fortune.  Going  about  to  account  for  events,  accord- 
ing to  what  he  calls  general  laws,  he  never  for  a  mo- 
ment considers,  that  all  laws,  whether  physical,  po- 
litical, or  moral,  imply  a  legislator,  and  are  contriv- 
ed to  serve  some  purpose.  Because  he  cannot  always, 
by  his  short-sighted  vision,  discover  the  tendencies 
of  the  mighty  events,  of  which  this  earth  has  been 
the  theatre,  he  looks  on  the  drama  of  existence 
around  him  as  proceeding  without  a  plan.    Is  that 


1(51 

principle,  then,  of  no  importance,  which  raises  man 
above  what  his  eyes  see,  or  his  ears  hear,  or  his  touch 
feels,  at  present,  and  shows  him  the  vast  chain  of 
human  events,  fastened  eternally  to  the  throne  of 
God,  and  returning,  after  embracing  the  universe, 
again  to  link  itself  to  the  footstool  of  omnipotence  ? 

Would  you  know  the  value  of  this  principle  of 
faith  to  the  bereaved  ?  Go,  and  follow  a  corpse  to  the 
grave.  See  the  body  deposited  there,  and  hear  the 
earth  thrown  in  upon  all  that  remains  of  your  friend. 
Iieturn  now,  if  you  will,  and  brood  over  the  lesson, 
which  your  senses  have  given  you,  and  derive  from  it 
what  consolation  you  can.  You  have  learned  nothing 
but  an  unconsoling  fact.  No  voice  of  comfort  issues 
from  the  tomb.  All  is  still  there,  and  blank  and  life- 
less, and  has  been  so  for  ages.  You  see  nothing  but 
bodies  dissolving  and  successively  mingling  with i he 
clods,  which  cover  them,  the  grass  growing  over  the 
spot,  and  the  trees  waving  in  sullen  majesty  over  this 
region  of  eternal  silence.  And  what  is  there  more  ? 
Nothing — Come,  faith,  and  people  these  deserts ! 
Come,  and  reanimate  these  regions  of  forgetfulness  ! 
Mothers  !  take  again  your  children  to  your  arms,  for 
they  are  living.  Sons  !  your  aged  parents  are  coming 
forth  in  the  vigour  of  regenerated  years.  Friends  I 
behold,  your  dearest  connexions  are  waiting  to  embrace 
you.  The  tombs  are  burst.  Generations,  long  sines 
lost  in  slumbers,  are  awaking.  They  are  coming  from 
the  east  and  the  west,  from  the  north  and  from  the 
south,  to  constitute  the  community  of  the  blessed. 


162 


But  it  is  not  in  the  loss  of  friends  alone,  that  faith 
furnishes  consolations,  which  are  inestimable.  With 
a  man  of  faith  not  an  affliction  is  lost,  not  a  change  is 
unimproved.  He  studies  even  his  own  history  with 
pleasure,  and  finds  it  full  of  instruction.  The 
dark  passages  of  his  life  are  illuminated  with  hope  ; 
and  he  sees,  that,  although  he  has  passed  through 
many  dreary  defiles,  yet  they  have  opened  at  last  in- 
to brighter  regions  of  existence.  He  recalls,  with  a 
species  of  w  ondering  gratitude,  periods  of  his  life, 
Avhen  all  its  events  seemed  to  conspire  against  him. 
Hemmed  in  by  straitened  circumstances,  wearied 
with  repeated  blows  of  unexpected  misfortune,  and 
exhausted  with  the  painful  anticipation  of  more,  he  re- 
collects years,  when  the  ordinary  love  of  life  could 
not  have  retained  him  in  the  w  orld.  Many  a  time  he 
might  have  wished  to  lay  down  his  being  in  disgust,  had 
not  something  more  than  the  senses  provide  us  with 
kept  up  the  elasticity  of  his  mind.  He  yet  lives,  and 
has  found,  that  light  is  sown  for  the  righteous,  and 
gladness  for  the  upright  in  heart.  The  man  of  faith 
discovers  some  gracious  purpose  in  every  combination 
of  circumstances.  Wherever  he  finds  himself,  he 
knows  that  he  has  a  destination — he  has,  therefore,  a 
duty.  Every  event  has,  in  his  eye,  a  tendency  and  an 
aim.  Nothing  is  accidental,  nothing  without  a  pur- 
pose, nothing  unattended  with  benevolent  consequen- 
ces. Every  thing  on  earth  is  probationary,  nothing 
ultimate.  He  is  poor — perhaps  his  plans  have  been 
defeated — he  finds  it  difficult  to  provide  for  the  ex- 


163 


igencies  of  life — sickness  is  permitted  to  invade  the 
quiet  of  his  household — long  confinement  imprisons 
his  activity,  and  cuts  short  the  exertions,  on  which 
so  many   depend — something  apparently  unlucky 
mars  his  best  plans — new  failures  and  embarassments 
among  his  friends  present  themselves,  and  throw  addi- 
tional obstructions  in  his  way — the  world  look  on, 
and  say,  all  these  things  are  against  him.   Some  wait 
coolly  for  the  hour,  when  he  shall  sink  under  the  com- 
plicated embarrassments  of  his  cruel  fortune.  Oth- 
ers, of  a  kinder  spirit,  regard  him  with  compassion, 
and  wonder  how  he  can  sustain  such  a  variety  of 
wo.    A  few  there  are,  a  very  few  I  fear,  who  can 
understand  something  of  the  serenity  of  his  mind, 
and  comprehend  something  of  the  nature  of  his  for- 
titude.   There  are  those,  whose  sympathetick  piety 
can  read  and  interpret  the  characters  of  resignation  on 
h?s  brow.    There  are  those,  in  fine,  who  have  felt 
the  influence  of  faith. 

In  this  influence  there  is  nothing  mysterious,  noth- 
ing romantick,  nothing  of  which  the  highest  reason 
may  be  ashamed.  It  shows  the  christian  his  God,  in 
all  the  mild  majesty  of  his  parental  character.  It 
shows  you  God,  disposing  in  still  and  benevolent 
-  wisdom  the  events  of  every  individual's  life,  press- 
ing the  pious  spirit  with  the  weight  of  calamity  to 
increase  the  elasticity  of  the  mind,  producing  char- 
acters of  unexpected  worth  by  unexpected  misfor- 
tune, invigorating  certain  virtues  by  peculiar  proba- 


tions,  thus  breaking  the  fetters  which  bind  us  to  tem- 
poral things,  and 

From  seeming  evil  still  educing  good, 

And  better  thence  again,  and  better  still, 

In  infinite  progression. 

When  the  sun  of  the  believer's  hopes,  according  to 
common  calculations,  is  set,  to  the  eye  of  faith  it 
is  still  visible.  When  much  of  the  rest  of  the  world 
is  in  darkness,  the  high  ground  of  faith  is  illuminated 
with  the  brightness  of  religious  consolation. 

Come,  now,  my  incredulous  friends,  and  follow  me 
to  the  bed  of  the  dying  believer.    Would  you  &ee,  in 
what  peace  a  christian  can  die  ?    Watch  the  last 
gleams  of  thought,  which  stream  from  his  dying  eyes. 
Do  you  see  any  thing  like  apprehension  ?  Th«  world, 
it  is  true,  begins  to  shut  in.    The  shadows  of  even- 
ing collect  around  his  senses.    A  dark  mist  thkkens 
and  rests  upon  the  objects,  which  have  hitherto  engag- 
ed his  observation.    The  countenances  of  his  frienfe 
become  more  and  more  indistinct.    The  sweet  ex- 
pressions of  love  and  friendship  are  no  longer  intel- 
ligible.   His  ear  wakes  no  more  at  the  well-known 
voice  of  his  children,  and  the  soothing  accents  of 
tender  affection  die  away,  unheard,  upon  his  decay- 
ing senses.    To  him  the  spectacle  of  human  life  is 
drawing  to  its  close,  and  the  curtain  is  descending, 
which  shuts  out  this  earth,  its  actors,  and  its  scenes. 
He  is  no  longer  interested  in  all  that  is  done  under 
the  sun.    0  !   that  I  could  now  open  to  you  the 
recesses  of  his  soul  $  that  I  could  reveal  to  you  thti 


165 


light,  which  darts  into  the  chambers  of  his  under 
standing.  He  approaches  the  world,  which  he  has 
so  long  seen  in  faith.  The  imagination  now  collects 
its  diminished  strength,  and  the  eye  of  faith  opens 
wide.  Friends  !  do  not  stand,  thus  fixed  in  sorrow, 
around  this  bed  of  death.  Why  are  you  so  still  and 
silent  ?  Fear  not  to  move — you  cannot  disturb  the 
last  visions,  which  entrance  this  holy  spirit.  Your 
lamentations  break  not  in  upon  the  songs  of  seraphs, 
which  enwrap  his  hearing  in  extacy.  Crowd,  if  you 
choose,  around  his  couch — he  heeds  vou  not — al- 
ready  he  sees  the  spirits  of  the  just  advancing  to- 
gether to  receive  a  kindred  soul.  Press  him  not 
with  importunities  ;  urge  him  not  with  alleviations. 
Think  you  he  wants  now  these  tones  of  mortal  voices 
— these  material,  these  gross  consolations  ?  No  ! 
He  is  going  to  add  another  to  the  myriads  of  the  just, 
that  are  every  moment  crowding  into  the  portals  of 
heaven  !  He  is  entering  on  a  nobler  life.  He  leaves 
you — he  leaves  you,  wreeping  children  of  mortality, 
to  grope  about  a  little  longer  among  the  miseries  and 
sensualities  of  a  worldly  life.  Already  he  cries  to 
you  from  the  regions  of  bliss.  Will  you  not  join 
him  there  ?  Will  you  not  taste  the  sublime  joys  of 
faith  ?  There  are  your  predecessors  in  virtue  5  there, 
too,  are  places  left  for  your  contemporaries.  There 
are  seats  for  you  in  the  assembly  of  the  just  made 
perfect,  in  the  innumerable  company  of  angels,  where 
is  Jesus,  the  mediator  of  the  new  covenant,  and  (xod, 
the  judge  of  all. 


SERMON  XL 


2  PETER  iii.  15,  16. 

EVEN  AS  OUR  BELOVED  BROTHER  PAUL,  ALSO,  ACCORDING  TO 
THE  WISDOM  GIVEN  UNTO  HIM,  HATH  WRITTEN  UNTO  YOU, 
AS  ALSO  IN  ALL  HIS  EPISTLES,  SPEAKING  IN  THEM  OF  THESE 
THINGS,  IN  WHICH  ARE  SOME  THINGS  HARD  TO  BE  UNDER- 
STOOD, WHICH  THEY  THAT  ARE  UNLEARNED  AND  UNSTABLE 
WREST,  AS  THEY  DO  ALSO  THE  OTHER  SCRIPTURES,  UNTO  THEIR 
OWN  DESTRUCTION. 

THIS  passage  is  a  remarkable  testimony  of  one 
apostle  to  the  character  and  writings  of  another.  It 
proves,  that,  at  the  time  Peter  wrote,  some  epistles  of 
Paul  existed ;  and  intimates,  that  they  were  written 
according  to  a  kind  of  wisdom,  which  he  had  super  - 
naturally  received.  It  proves,  also,  that  they  were 
considered  of  so  much  authority,  as  to  be  dignified 
with  the  name  of  scriptures,  which  is  a  title  equiva- 
lent to  that  of  sacred  writing.  This  passage  declares, 
also,  that,  from  some  cause,  either  in  the  writer  or 
the  subject,  there  were  some  things  in  these  epistles 
hard  to  be  understood,  and  likely  to  be  perverted. 


167 

In  order  to  understand  the  unconnected  writings  of 
any  person,  written  at  a  remote  period,  and  in  a  for- 
eign language,  the  character  of  the  writer,  the  opini- 
ons that  prevailed  in  his  time,  his  object  in  writing, 
and  every  circumstance  peculiar  to  his  situation,  must 
be  taken  into  consideration,  before  we  can  be  sure  of 
having  reached  the  whole  of  his  meaning.  This  is 
more  especially  necessary  in  reading  the  epistles  of 
Paul,  from  circumstances,  which  shall  be  presently 
mentioned.  It  is  my  present  design  to  give  you,  in 
the  first  place,  the  history  and  character  of  this  apos- 
tle, and  then  to  consider  the  causes  of  that  obscurity 
in  his  writings,  of  which  Peter  complains. 

His  history,  after  his  conversion,  is  more  detailed 
than  that  of  any  other  apostle,  and  this,  too,  by  the 
pen  of  his  companion,  Luke,  an  excellent  narrator. 
This  part  of  Paul's  life,  which  is  so  minutely  re- 
corded in  the  Acts,  we  shall  not  include  in  our  pre- 
sent survey,  as  it  may  be  so  easily  read,  and  in  so 
orderly  a  narrative.  Those  portions  of  his  life,  which 
tend  most  to  illustrate  his  character,  are  his  conduct 
before  his  conversion,  and  the  consequences  of  that 
remarkable  event  We  shall  intersperse  the  narra- 
tive with  occasional  remarks. 

In  the  history  of  Paul  we  have  two  different  men 
to  describe,  the  persecutor  and  the  apostle.  Nothing 
can  be  imagined  more  complete,  than  the  change  of 
views  in  this  apostle,  yet  he  preserves,  through  the 
whole  of  his  life,  what  may  be  called  the  original 
stamina  of  his  character.    He  was  born  at  Tarsus, 


168 


a  city  of  Cilieia,  a  place  by  no  means  obscure,  but 
rather  distinguished  for  the  pure  and  flourishing  con- 
dition of  Greek  literature,  among  its  citizens.  Paul's 
parents  were  Jews,  who  had  probably  obtained,  by 
the  favour  of  Augustus,  the  freedom  of  the  city  of 
Rome.  Hence  Paul,  though  a  Jew,  of  the  tribe  of 
Benjamin,  declares,  that  he  was  born  a  Roman  citizen. 
His  father  was  a  Pharisee,  the  most  rigid  of  the  Jew- 
ish sects ;  and  he  seems  to  have  taken  care,  that  his 
son  should  be  educated  in  all  the  severity  of  the  or- 
der, and  furnished  with  that  kind  of  learning,  which 
then  abounded  among  the  Jews,  consisting  in  a  know- 
ledge of  the  traditions  of  the  law,  and  a  thousand 
false  and  superstitious  notions,  which  it  was  then 
thought  the  perfection  of  science  to  understand,  and 
of  which  we  have  some  specimens  remaining  in  the 
Jewish  writings  of  that  age.    Every  thing  in  Paul's 
education  was  calculated  to  foster  a  strong  prejudice 
against  Jesus  and  Christianity,  for  if  there  was  any 
system  on  earth,  to  which  Christ's  religion  was  parti- 
cularly opposed,  it  was  the  pharisaism  of  that  period. 
He  was  placed  under  the  instruction  of  Gamaliel,  a 
celebrated  Jewish  doctor,  from  whom  Paul  might  have 
learned  moderation,  at  least  as  far  as  his  temper  would 
have  admitted  moderation  in  any  thing ;  but,  as  soon 
as  the  persecution  of  the  christians  commenced,  we 
find  him  among  the  foremost  of  those,  who  were  en- 
gaged in  exterminating  the  followers  of  Jesus.  His 
early  prejudices  in  favour  of  his  own  sect,  the  pride 
of  his  learning,  the  consciousness  of  talents,  his  re- 


109 


Vercnce  for  the  rabbis,  whom  he  called  his  masters, 
and  especially  a  mistaken  zeal  for  God,  actuated  this 
young  scholar ;  and  he  comes  from  the  feet  of  Gama- 
liel to  assist  at  the  stoning  of  Stephen,  and  is  after- 
wards busily  engaged  in  the  arrest,  trial  and  punish- 
ment  of  christians,  wherever  he  could  find  them.  The 
ground  of  opposition  to  the  christians,  in,  this  early 
age,  was,  that  they  maintained  Jesus  to  be  the  Mes- 
siah, a  person,  who,  in  the  opinion  of  every  Jew,  was 
yet  dead,  after  suffering  the  fate  of  a  malefactor.  It 
was  regarded  as  a  species  of  blasphemy,  to  main- 
tain the  claims  of  such  a  person  to  such  a  character ; 
and  Paul,  no  doubt,  thought  himself  acting  an  hon- 
ourable, or  at  least  a  conscientious  part,  in  seizing 
and  punishing,  wherever  he  could  find  them,  those 
who  dared  to  profess  such  an  offensive  belief.  His 
zeal  for  every  thing,  connected  with  the  honour  of  his 
sect  and  nation,  and  with  the  glory  of  God,  transport- 
ed him  to  these  extremes  of  fanaticism.  There  is 
nothing  in  Paul's  character  before  his  conversion, 
which  can  lead  us  to  suppose,  that  he  was  either 
habitually  cruel,  selfish,  artful,  ambitious,  or  corrupt. 
There  is  nothing,  which  impeaches  his  integrity,  or 
which  ought  to  render  us  suspicious  of  his  moral  char- 
acter. He  was  only  actuated  by  a  species  of  mistaken 
zeal,  which  has  been  common  enough  in  every  age. 
There  is  no  sufiicient  reason  for  supposing,  that  he  had 
ever  seen  our  Lord,  or  his  miracles ;  nor  that  he  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  apostles,  or  their  preaching,  before 
he  engaged  in  this  violent  career.  If,  before  this  time, 
22 


170 


lie  had  been  at  the  school  of  Gamaliel,  from  the  re- 
tired life  of  the  Jewish  scholar,  there  is  very  little 
reason  to  suppose,  that  he  could  have  known  much  of 
the  new  religion.  He  had  come  from  the  schools  full 
of  Jewish  learning  and  Jewish  pride.  When  he  en- 
tered into  publick  life,  he  had  taken  up  the  common 
reports  and  prejudices  respecting  Jesus  and  his  fol- 
lowers ;  and,  without  much  inquiry  into  the  subject, 
he  thought  he  should  signalize  himself  and  his  order, 
and  gratify  the  Pharisees,  by  the  persecution  of  the 
christians. 

But  God,  whose  purposes  are  far  beyond  our  ken, 
and  whose  means  are  infinitely  various,  had  marked 
out  this  young  man  for  the  most  eminent  apostle  of 
the  faith,  which  he  was  now  intent  upon  exterminat- 
ing. If  we  suppose  Paul's  character  such  as  I  have 
represented  it  to  be,  uncorrupt,  disinterested,  and  void 
of  malice,  his  heart  warmed  by  a  zeal  for  w  hat  he 
imagined  to  be  God's  truth,  and  his  head  heated  by 
religious  prejudices,  there  wanted  nothing  but  to 
show  to  this  young  man,  by  the  irresistible  evidence 
of  his  senses,  that  this  very  Jesus,  whom  he  regarded 
as  a  crucified,  detestable  malefactor,  was  really  alive 
in  power,  and  risen  from  the  dead,  to  turn  the  whole 
current  of  his  conduct,  sentiments  and  character. 
This  mercy  God  granted  him,  and  at  a  time,  too,  when 
his  mind  was  yet  open  to  conviction,  and  his  heart 
not  yet  hardened  by  the  pride  of  system,  or  by  a  long 
life  of  persecuting  habits.  As  he  was  going  down  to 
-Damascus,  with  a  commission  from  the  rulers  of  his 


171 

nation,  to  seize  and  bring  to  Jerusalem  all  whom  he 
could  find  bearing  the  name  of  christians,  Jesus  ap- 
pears to  him.  In  a  moment  truth  bursts  upon  his 
mind,  and  he  sinks  to  the  earth  in  all  the  humility 
and  terrour  of  irresistible  conviction.  His  senses  are 
overpowered,  his  purpose  fails,  his  situation  appears 
to  him,  as  it  would  to  any  honest  and  religious  man, 
upon  the  discovery  of  such  a  fact,  and  oppresses  him 
with  inconceivable  remorse.  Trembling  and  aston- 
ished, he  says,  Lord  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ? 
In  an  instant  his  views  are  all  changed  ;  and,  from 
this  hour,  nothing  can  exceed  his  sense  of  his  for- 
mer unworthiness,  and  his  ardour  in  the  cause  of 
that  Jesus,  whom  he  before  thought  to  be  dead, 
and  whose  disciples  he  considered  it  an  honour 
to  exterminate.  This  miracle  alone  was  wanting 
to  convert  a  man  of  Paul's  age  and  temperament, 
a  man  open  to  conviction,  eager  in  embracing  any 
new  sentiment,  which  he  thought  to  be  truth,  and 
who  now  obtained,  by  God's  mercy,  that  conviction 
which  he  needed.  From  this  hour,  the  darling  object 
of  his  life  was  to  repair,  if  possible,  the  injuries,  which 
he  had  committed  against  Jesus  and  his  cause.  The 
memory  of  his  former  conduct,  and  his  sense  of  God's 
mercy,  never  deserted  him  ;  but  he  sacredly  devotes  a 
long  and  laborious  life  to  propagate  that  faith,  which 
he  had  been  destroying.  Well  might  he  extol  the 
unsearchable  riches  of  God's  mercy.  Last  of  all, 
says  he,  Jesus  was  seen  by  me,  also,  as  by  one  born 
out  of  due  time ;  for  I  am  the  least  of  the  apostles> 


173 


and  am  not  worthy  to  be  called  an  apostle,  because  I 
persecuted  the  church  of  God. 

I  cannot  now  pursue  the  reflections,  which  this  re. 
markable  case  suggests.  You  are  sensible,  that  it  is 
an  argument  for  the  trutli  of  our  religion,  which  is  not 
to  be  resisted.  It  is  proper  to  remind  you,  however, 
that  it  was  an  indispensable  requisite  of  an  apostle, 
that  he  should  have  seen  our  Saviour  in  person,  after 
his  resurrection,  and  have  received  his  commission 
immediately  from  him,  This  appears  to  be  the  dis- 
tinguishing qualification  of  the  apostolical  office. 
Paul,  now  possessing  it,  takes  the  place  in  the  num- 
ber of  the  twelve,  which  was  left  vacant  by  the  death 
of  Judas.  The  manner,  then,  of  Paul's  conversion, 
by  the  personal  appearance  of  our  Saviour,  thus 
appears  peculiarly  proper,  and  even  necessary.  A 
thousand  other  means  might  have  been  used,  merely 
to  convert  him,  but  this  appears  to  have  been  chosen 
with  a  view  to  that  office,  for  which  God  especially 
designed  him,  the  apostleship  of  the  Gentiles.  It  has 
been  suggested,  and,  perhaps,  with  some  appearance 
of  truth,  that,  when  the  eleven  judged  it  necessary  to 
supply  the  place  of  Judas,  and  chose  Matthias  by 
lot,  they  did  not  act  by  the  direction  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  which  was  not  yet  given,  but  merely  by  dic- 
tates of  human  prudence,  which,  on  that  occasion, 
seems  to  have  carried  them  too  far.  No  man,  or  body 
of  men,  could,  by  their  designation,  confer  an  office 
of  such  authority  as  this,  which  was  to  bind  the  con- 
sciences of  others.    It  was  necessary,  that  the  candi- 


173 


date  should  receive  his  commission  and  supernatural 
powers  from  Jesus  himself.  Tims  our  Lord  seems 
to  have  superseded  the  election  of  Matthias,  and,  with 
a  view  to  the  conversion  of  the  Gentiles,  to  have  ap- 
pointed Paul,  the  person,  perhaps,  of  all  others  in  Je- 
rusalem, best  qualified  by  his  learning,  resolution  and 
the  circumstances  of  his  former  life,  for  this  arduous 
employment. 

Paul  proceeds  to  Damascus  ;  but  enters  it,  how  dif- 
ferent a  man!- — humble,  penitent,  teachable,  hardly 
daring  to  lift  up  his  eyes  to  heaven.  Here  he  is  kind- 
ly received  by  Ananias,  a  disciple  of  Jesus,  who  re- 
stores to  him  his  sight,  which  he  had  lost  by  the 
brightness  of  the  vision  of  Jesus,  and  baptizes  him 
into  the  profession  of  Christianity.  He  does  not  re- 
turn to  Jerusalem,  where  he  would -have  been  in  the 
utmost  danger  from  the  resentment  of  his  employers ; 
but  retires  into  Arabia,  where  he  probably  was  em- 
ployed in  gaining  a  more  comprehensive  knowledge 
of  the  christian  faith,  by  successive  revelations,  and 
by  a  more  diligent  study  of  the  Jewish  scriptures, 
with  reference  to  the  proofs  of  the  Messiahship  of 
Jesus.  He  afterwards  returns ;  and  I  need  not  re- 
count to  you  the  number  of  his  services,  the  dangers 
he  encountered,  the  success  he  obtained,  or  the  death 
to  which  he  at  last  submitted  in  the  cause  of  Christ. 
The  Acts,  written  by  his  companion  Luke,  and  his  own 
epistles,  give  us  an  exact  and  interesting  detail  of  his 
life  ;  and  surely  no  man,  after  reading  his  history  and 
his  letters;  but  must  exclaim,  this  was  a  man  born  for 


474 

great  purposes !  The  conversion  and  history  of  Paui 
are  not  to  be  accounted  for  but  by  the  interposition 
of  God. 

In  summing  up  the  traits  of  Paul's  character,  you 
will  observe,  how  singularly  he  was  qualified  for  that 
office,  to  which  he  was  especially  destined,  the  apos- 
tleship  oT  the  Gentiles  throughout  the  Roman  empire. 
He  was  the  only  one  of  the  apostles,  who  appears  to 
have  had  what  may  be  called  a  liberal  education,  or, 
at  least,  who  had  any  tincture  of  the  literature  and 
philosophy  of  the  Greeks.  But  his  mind,  naturally 
powerful,  was  not  only  furnished  with  the  Jewish 
learning  of  the  age,  but  discovers,  also,  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  genius  and  science  of  the  Gen- 
tiles. He  appears,  also,  more  than  any  other  of  the 
apostles,  to  be  fond  of  argumentation,  and  powerfully 
eloquent ;  two  qualities,  which  could  not  fail  to  arrest 
the  attention  of  those  to  whom  he  was  sent.  The 
mission,  which  was  given  him,  demanded  not  only  a 
strength  of  genius  like  his,  but  an  ardour,  which  no 
discouragement  should  quench,  a  resolution,  which  no 
dangers  should  overthrow,  a  spirit  of  laborious  perse- 
verance, and  indefatigable  activity,  which  should 
keep  him  almost  perpetually  in  motion,  and  carry 
him  over  an  immense  tract  of  country,  and  in  addition 
to  this  a  spirit  of  disinterestedness,  which  should  never 
appear  to  be  mingled  with  considerations  of  personal 
convenience  or  indulgence.  With  these  qualities  he 
united  a  prudence,  which  has  seldom  been  equalled, 
$  prudence  absolutely  necessary  to  a  teacher,  who  had 


175 


so  many  conflicting  interests  to  unite,  so  many  differ- 
ent tempers  to  conciliate,  so  many  churches  to  collect, 
advise  and  regulate,  so  many  unforeseen  difficulties 
to  provide  for,  so  many  artifices  to  escape  or  to  de- 
feat. The  warmth  of  his  private  affections  were  also 
necessary  to  secure  to  him  personal  friends,  whose 
hospitality  he  needed  in  the  course  of  his  travels; 
and  the  publicity  of  his  former  character,  as  a  perse- 
cutor, was  of  importance,  to  give  every  possible  weight 
to  his  testimony  respecting  the  great  fact,  which  caused 
his  conversion.  If  there  ever  was  a  man  calculated, 
at  the  same  time,  to  manage  the  opposite  prejudices  of 
Jews  and  Gentiles,  if  there  was  ever  a  man  made 
for  a  difficult  service,  in  the  most  difficult  of  times, 
it  was  Paul.  Every  thing  in  Jewish  tradition,  scrip- 
ture history,  and  Gentile  philosophy,  was  at  his  com- 
mand. He  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  state 
and  genius  of  his  own  nation,  at  the  same  time  that 
he  discovered  a  quick  and  thorough  comprehension 
gf  the  characters  of  individuals.  In  short,  he  was  a 
man,  of  whom  any  nation,  or  any  cause  might  have 
been  proud.  But  what  was  his  opinion  of  himself? 
To  me,  who  am  the  least  of  all  saints,  is  this  grace  of 
apostleship  given,  to  me,  who  am  not  worthy  to  be 
called  one  of  the  apostles,  because  I  persecuted  the 
church.  This  was  the  man,  to  whom  the  inhabitants 
of  Lystra  were  about  to  offer  sacrifices,  as  to  a  God. 

I  will  close  this  division  of  my  subject  with  two 
reflections. 


176 

1.  In  the  first  place,  notwithstanding  the  extreme 
ardour  of  this  apostle's  imagination,  nothing,  whicli 
he  has  left  us,  discovers  any  thing  of  fanatical  delu- 
sion. So  far  from  possessing  that  pride,  and  spiritual 
self-sufficiency,  which  are  almost  invariably  the  charac- 
teristicks  of  fanaticks,  he  speaks  of  the  communica- 
tions, which  had  been  made  to  him,  in  the  most  unassum- 
ing terms,  and  even  with  manifest  reluctance.  He  is  in- 
duced only  by  the  vaunting  of  one  of  his  Corinthian 
opponents  to  say  any  thing  of  the  visions,  with  which 
he  had  been  favoured,  and  he  dwells  only  on  that 
miraculous  part  of  his  conversion,  on  which  every 
thing  in  his  preaching  depended.  It  is  yet  more  re- 
markable, that  he  does  not  appeal  for  the  proof  of  his 
apostolical  authority  to  any  visions,  trances,  or  even 
divine  communications,  which  must  be  believed  only 
on  his  own  testimony^  J) ut  to  the  actual  and  sensible 
miracles,  which  he  had  wrought,  and  of  which  any 
impartial  person  could  judge  as  well  as  himself. 
Has  this  been  the  mode  of  modern  enthusiasts  ?  Your 
own  reading  and  observation  will  answer  for  me. 

Though  he  was  a  man  of  such  a  spiritual  and  de- 
votional taste,  yet  his  head  seems  never  to  be  in- 
flamed with  any  impracticable  notions  of  holiness. 
His  morality  is  perfectly  sound,  rational,  and  practi- 
cable, without  any  of  the  austerities,  to  which,  from 
his  education  among  the  Pharisees,  we  should  natu- 
rally have  supposed  him  inclined.  His  determina- 
tions about  doubts  of  conscience  discover  the  most 


177 

sensible  and  discriminating  liberality.  His  recom- 
mendations of  prudence,  and,  indeed,  all  his  admoni- 
tions respecting  little  matters,  given  to  his  supersti- 
tious countrymen,  and  adapted  to  the  state  of  the 
churches,  discover  a  mind  infinitely  removed  from 
any  thing  like  extravagance.  When,  too,  was  it  ever 
known,  that  a  fanatick  would  take  the  pains  to  make 
and  point  out  such  careful  and  honest  distinctions, 
as  Paul  has  done,  between  the  operations  of  his 
own  mind  and  the  suggestions  of  inspiration?  Here 
I  cannot  resist  transcribing  some  remarks  of  Lord 
Lyttleton,  on  the  preference,  which  St.  Paul  gives  to 
sincere  rectitude  of  principle,  above  every  other  re- 
ligious accomplishment.  After  quoting  the  passage  in 
the  thirteenth  of  Corinthians,  where  Paul  prefers  char- 
ity to  every  gift  and  miraculous  quality,  he  adds  :  "  Is 
this  the  language  of  enthusiasm  ?  Did  ever  enthusi- 
ast prefer  that  universal  benevolence,  which  compre- 
hends all  moral  virtues,  and  which,  as  appears  by  the 
following  verses,  is  meant  by  charity  here — did  ever 
enthusiast,  I  say,  prefer  that  benevolence  to  faith 
and  to  miracles,  to  those  religious  opinions,  which  he 
had  embraced,  aud  to  those  supernatural  graces  and 
gifts,  which  he  imagined  he  had  acquired,  nay,  even 
to  the  merit  of  martyrdom  ?  Is  it  not  the  genius  of 
enthusiasm  to  set  moral  virtues  infinitely  below  the 
merit  of  faith  ;  and  of  all  moral  virtues  to  value  that 
least,  which  is  most  particularly  enforced  by  St.  Paul, 
a  spirit  of  candour,  moderation  and  peace?  Certain- 
ly, neither  the  temper,  nor  the  opinions  of  a  man,  sub- 
23 


178 


ject  to  fanatical  delusions,  are  to  be  found  in  this 
passage." 

2.  The  second  reflection,  which  I  make,  is  this. 
How  important  must  that  cause  be,  which  such  a  man 
as  Paul  could  maintain  with  such  amazing  exertions, 
such  unwearied  zeal,  through  a  long  life  of  such  dis- 
couragements, privations,  persecutions  and  indigni- 
ties, even  to  the  hour  of  his  martyrdom.  It  was  not  the 
mere  assertion  of  a  fact,  in  w  hich  Paul  w  as  so  engaged. 
It  was  not  merely  to  make  the  world  believe,  that  he 
had  seen  Jesus,  who  had  been  crucified.    It  was  not 
the  belief  of  the  single,  unconnected  circumstance  of 
the  resurrection  of  a  dead  person,  which  he  sacrificed 
every  tiling  to  propagate.    Where  is  the  man,  who, 
to  establish  a  mere  fact  of  any  kind,  would  undergo 
the  loss  of  all  that  men  value  in  life  ?  No,  my  friends, 
it  was  the  consequences  of  this  fact,  which  crowded 
upon  his  mind  as  soon  as  he  knew,  that  Jesus  was  the 
Messiah,  whom  God  raised  from  the  dead,  consequen- 
ces, which  unfolded  themselves  far  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  mortals.    A  sphere  of  usefulness  open- 
ed itself  to  him,  worthy  of  a  minister  of  God.  He 
saw  the  happiness  of  the  world  suspended  on  the 
reception  of  Christianity.   He  found,  that  the  dearest 
interests  of  the  souls  of  men  were  entrusted  to  him. 
Loving,  as  he  did,  his  own  nation,  the  whole  extent 
of  their  guilt  in  the  crucifixion  of  Jesus  overwhelm- 
ed his  thoughts ;  and  he  appeals  to  God  for  the  an- 
guish of  his  mind,  when  he  contemplates  the  conse- 
quences of  their  unbelief.  He  saw,  too,  a  scheme  of 


178 

redemption,  in  which  the  eternal  life  of  a  w  orld  was 
involved.  I  It  was  salvation,  which  he  preached  to 
the  Jew  first,  and  also  to  the  Gentile ;  and  it  was 
death,  eternal  death,  which  he  saw  awaiting  those, 
who  received  not  his  testimony.  Was  not  this  a 
cause  sufficient  to  awake  all  the  powers  of  hody,  of 
mind,  of  acting,  or  of  suffering,  which  he  possessed  ? 
And,  when  he  saw,  too,  the  rewards,  which,  as  Jesus 
lived,  he  would  certainly  bestow  on  his  adherents,  the 
privations,  which  he  himself  endured,  shrunk  into  insig- 
nificance. Nothing  appeared  painful,  nothing  danger- 
ous, nothing  worthy  for  a  moment  to  be  mentioned,  as 
a  loss,  in  comparison  of  that  glory,  which  awaited 
him  hereafter.  And  can  any  man,  who  really  be- 
lieves  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  consider  it  a  subject,  which 
admits  of  indifference?  If  it  is  true,  it  is  to  every 
thing  else  in  the  world,  as  much  more  important  as 
heaven  is  high  above  earth,  eternity  above  the  present 
instant,  God  above  man.  It  is  a  cause,  which  cannot 
be  sincerely  embraced  with  insensibility.  It  is  enough 
to  inflame  the  imagination  of  the  stupid,  and  warm 
the  heart  of  the  most  frigid  selfishness.  It  is  the 
cause  of  human  happiness  forever  and  ever.  In  this 
view,  Paul  appears  the  most  rational  of  men.  It  is 
the  consequences  of  that  fact,  the  resurrection  of 
Jesus,  which  save  him  from  the  imputation  of  mad- 
ness. He  was  the  martyr  to  a  cause,  in  which  you, 
and  I,  and  every  rational  creature,  is  interested.  If 
Paul  was  not  mistaken,  who  would  not  cry  out  wit1! 
him,  I  am  persuaded,  that  the  light  afflictions  of  the 


180 


present  moment  arc  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with 
the  glory,  that  shall  be  revealed.  For  neither  death, 
nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor 
things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor 
depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  sepa- 
rate us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus 
our  Lord. 

The  remarks,  which  have  now  been  offered,  will, 
I  hope,  furnish  you  with  some  general  ideas  of  the 
character  of  Paul.  If,  however,  you  have  carefully 
read  his  epistles,  you  will  have  a  much  more  correct 
and  lively  idea  of  the  man,  than  by  only  reading 
his  history  in  the  Acts  ;  for  there  you  have  the  narra- 
tive of  another,  but,  in  his  epistles,  he  develops  Hie 
leading  features  of  his  mind,  without  reserve,  and  with 
his  own  pen.  But,  from  some  cause  or  other,  some  of 
these  epistles  have  always  been  considered  more  ob- 
scure than  any  other  part  of  the  New  Testament, 
and,  though  many  people  read  them  with  great  piety, 
and  find  every  thing  easy  to  be  understood,  accord- 
ing to  their  own  system,  such  persons,  though  they 
may  be  much  edified  by  their  reading,  seldom  wait 
to  consider,  whether  their  own  sense  of  a  passage  is 
really  the  meaning  of  St.  Paul.  Hence  it  happens, 
that  those  men,  who  do  not  think  much  about  religion, 
or  who  are  not  able  or  disposed  to  employ  much 
time  in  understanding  the  scriptures,  either  utterly 
neglect  the  reading  of  this  part  of  the  volume,  or 
turn  away  in  disgust  from  the  book  itself,  and  con- 


181 

elude  to  take  their  faith,  as  they  can  gather  it,  from 
common  report. 

The  difficulties,  however,  which  exist  in  Paul's 
epistles,  can  arise  only  from  our  want  of  sufficient  in- 
formation as  to  the  state  of  the  times,  or  from  some- 
thing which  is  peculiar  to  his  mode  of  composition. 
This,  at  least,  is  probable,  that  they  do  not  result 
from  a  peculiar  obscurity  in  his  ideas,  or  from  any 
peculiar  system  of  philosophy  or  religion,  which  he 
had  adopted.  His  discourses  in  the  book  of  Acts, 
before  Felix,  and  Agrippa,  and  the  Gentile  audiences, 
are  perfectly  intelligible.  From  what,  then,  does  this 
difference  arise  ?  Surely  only  from  the  difference  of 
our  previous  information  as  to  the  circumstances  of 
the  writer,  and  the  subject  of  his  discourse. 

In  the  following  remarks,  I  shall  proceed,  as  was 
proposed,  to  state,  and,  if  possible,  to  illustrate  the 
sources  of  the  obscurity,  which  particularly  attends 
the  apostolical  parts  of  the  New  Testament.  If  these 
remarks  should  awaken  in  you  an  inclination  to  ex- 
amine the  scriptures  with  more  care,  and  read  them 
with  more  impartiality,  my  purpose  will  be  answered. 

1.  The  first  source  of  obscurity  is,  that  they  are 
private  letters,  addressed  to  particular  societies,  or 
individuals,  upon  particular  occasions.  It  is  impos- 
sible, completely  to  understand  a  composition  of  this 
epistolary  kind,  without  knowing  the  occasion,  on 
which  it  was  written,  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
the  writer,  and  of  those  to  whom  it  was  addressed ; 
and  still  further,  without  being  acquainted  with  a 


183 


thousand  little  incidents  well  known  to  the  parties,  to 
which  there  must  be  perpetual  reference  in  a  familiar 
correspondence.  If,  in  looking  over  the  papers  of 
some  deceased  friend,  you  were  to  take  up,  by 
chance,  a  letter  addressed  to  him  by  some  correspon- 
dent abroad  ;  or,  to  make  a  supposition  more  like  the 
present  case,  if  you  were  to  sit  down  to  read  one 
of  the  letters  of  Cicero,  without  intimately  know- 
ing his  history,  and  that  of  his  correspondent,  I  will 
venture  to  say,  that  you  would  hardly  make  sense 
or  meaning  of  many  passages,  and  perhaps  be  ut- 
terly at  a  loss  as  to  the  whole  subject  of  the  commu- 
nication. Just  so  it  is  with  the  letters  of  Paul.  From 
the  very  nature  of  this  kind  of  composition,  it  cannot 
be  so  intelligible,  as  an  elementary  discourse  on  any 
given  subject,  or  a  regular  narrative  of  any  parti- 
cular events.  Hence  I  will  venture  to  lay  it  down  as  a 
maxim,  that  the  epistles  of  Paul  cannot  be  thorough- 
ly understood,  without  knowing  something  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  times,  the  character  of  the  writer,  the 
prevailing  prejudices  of  the  age,  and  the  particular 
purpose,  which  the  writer  meant  to  effect.  In  the 
epistles  of  Paul,  he  is  sometimes  answering  some 
question,  which  has  been  proposed  to  him,  but  with- 
out repeating  the  question ;  sometimes  he  refers  to 
particular  opponents,  who  are  not  mentioned  by 
name  ;  sometimes  he  lays  down  propositions,  truo 
only  as  applied  to  the  circumstances  of  his  corres- 
pondent ;  he  is  sometimes  making  concessions,  drop- 
ping hints*  suggesting  reproofs,  and  referring  to  events, 


183 


all  which  were  perfectly  understood  by  those  to 
whom  he  wrote,  but  which,  at  this  distance  of  time, 
necessarily  appear  unintelligible  to  a  careless  and 
uninformed  reader.  This  is  not  an  imperfection  in 
the  revelation,  because  every  thing,  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  our  religious  improvement,  is  too  plain  to  be 
mistaken  ;  nor  is  it  a  reproach  to  the  character  of 
epistolary  w  riting. 

2.    Another  cause  of  the  obscurity  of  Paul's  epis- 
tles is,  the  peculiar  genius  of  the  man.    His  imagina- 
tion was  easily  inflamed  with  the  subject,  on  w  hich  he 
was  writing.    The  motions  of  his  mind  were  exceed- 
ingly rapid,  his  thoughts  crowded  one  upon  another, 
and,  in  the  heat  of  composition,  he  is  carried  aw  ay 
from  the  subjeet  he  is  treating,  by  some  collateral  dis- 
cussion, so  that  an  inattentive  reader  will  not  easily 
discern,  where  he  resumes  the  thread  of  his  discourse. 
He  sometimes  leaves  his  subject,  and  breaks  out  into 
the  most  devout  and  rapturous  admiration  of  the  mer- 
cy and  wisdom  of  God  in  the  gospel  of  his  Son. 
He  discovers  an  ardour  of  gratitude  and  joy,  which 
a  man  must  have  something  of  his  spirit,  in  order  per- 
fectly to  understand.    He  frequently  changes  the  per- 
son, in  which  he  speaks,  sometimes  using  the  singu- 
lar, and  then,  unexpectedly,  the  plural ;  sometimes 
he  adopts,  without  previous  warning,  the  person  and 
arguments  of  a  Jewr,  and  sometimes  of  a  Gentile,  and 
reasons  upon  their  suppositions,  without  meaning  to 
adopt  them  as  his  own,  or  to  vouch  for  their  truth. 
His  sentences  are  often  encumbered  with  long  paren- 


184 


theses  ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  inartificial  than  his* 
mode  of  writing.  He  appears  to  have  disregarded, 
by  design,  the  rules  of  the  orators  and  rhetoricians 
of  his  age,  and  to  have  trusted  to  the  importance  of 
his  subject,  and  the  energy  of  his  address,  rather 
than  to  any  eloquence  of  style,  or  artifice  of  com- 
position. These  difficulties  are  by  no  means  insuper- 
able. They  are  rather  calculated  to  stimulate  every 
man,  who  is  really  interested  in  the  knowledge  of 
Christianity,  to  study  them  with  more  assiduity,  im- 
partiality, and  prayer  for  the  assistance  of  God's  spirit 
of  wisdom  and  improvement.  Of  this,  at  least,  I  am 
sure,  that  it  is  one  of  the  rewards,  with  which  God 
favours  the  sincere  inquirers  for  his  will,  that  they 
gain  every  day  some  new  insight  into  his  records, 
that  they  read  them  with  more  real  satisfaction,  and 
rejoice  continually  in  new  discoveries,  however  tri- 
fling they  may  appear,  discoveries  relating  to  the  doc- 
trine of  eternal  life. 

3.  But  the  education  and  peculiar  circumstances 
of  Paul  contribute,  also,  to  the  obscurity  of  his  epis- 
tles. Paul  was  a  man,  whose  head  was  filled  with 
the  Jewish  learning  of  his  age ;  and  he,  no  doubt, 
writes  often  like  one,  whose  early  notions  were  form- 
ed in  the  school  of  Gamaliel.  Hence  he  uses  many 
words  in  a  signification,  which  it  is  now  extremely 
difficult  to  settle.  The  word,  justification,  is  a  re- 
markable instance  of  this.  It  is  doubtful,  in  some 
instances,  whether  he  means  by  it  a  benefit  relating 
only  to  this  life,  or  extending  to  our  eternal  condi- 


185 


tion  ;  whether  he  means  only  a  present  privilege, 
which  every  man  obtained,  who  made  a  profession  of 
Christianity,  or  a  pardon  from  God,  reaching  backward 
to  every  preceding  offence,  and  forward  to  our  future 
acceptance  in  the  world  to  come.  The  term,  law,  is 
another  of  similar  ambiguity  ;  and  it  is  only  by  care- 
ful attention,  that  we  can  determine,  in  particular  pas- 
sages, whether  the  apostle  means  by  it  the  whole 
Jewish  dispensation,  or  the  ceremonial  part  of  it,  or 
that  moral  law,  which  is  equally  obligatory  on  every 
rational  creature.  The  terms,  faith,  death,  and  many 
others,  might  be  enumerated,  which  are  undoubtedly 
used  in  various  acceptations,  more  or  less  modified 
by  the  peculiar  notions  of  the  age,  and  therefore 
more  or  less  different  from  the  meaning  we  assign  to 
them  in  modern  times.  There  was  one  controversy, 
however,  in  the  apostolical  age,  in  which  Paul  was 
especially  interested,  which  we  must  keep  in  mind 
during  the  perusal  of  his  writings,  or  we  shall  never 
attain  to  a  just  understanding  of  his  epistles,  espe- 
cially of  those  to  the  Romans  and  Gralatians.  It  was 
this.  The  Jews,  you  well  know,  were,  at  first,  the 
only  converts  to  Christianity.  They  embraced  it  with 
all  their  native  prejudices  in  favour  of  the  perpetuity 
of  their  economy,  and  bigoted  in  the  presumption,  that 
they  were  the  peculiar  people  of  God.  In  their  opin- 
ion, all  the  rest  of  the  world  was  out  of  the  pale  of 
salvation.  They  received  Christianity  merely  as  a 
supplement  to  their  own  religion  \  and  it  was  long  be- 
24 


186 


fore  it  was  considered  by  thein  in  any  other  light,  than 
as  a  modification  of  Judaism.  Hence,  retaining,  as 
they  did,  these  Jewish  notions,  they  had  no  other  idea 
than  that  the  converts  to  Christianity,  among  the  hea- 
then, must  submit  to  circumcision,  and,  in  fact,  be- 
come Jews  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  in  order  to 
be  entitled  to  the  favour  of  God,  or  any  of  the  final 
benefits  of  the  gospel.  Hence,  too,  we  find,  that  they 
were  not  only  extremely  surprised,  but  indignant  at 
the  apostle's  intercourse  with  the  Gentiles,  and  at  his 
communication  of  the  gospel  to  the  pagan  world.  Let 
it  now  be  considered,  that,  in  all  the  places  where  the 
apostles  preached  and  collected  churches,  in  Rome, 
Corinth,  Ephesus  and  Galatia,  the  earliest  believers, 
and  frequently  the  majority  of  the  converts,  were 
rigid  Jews,  accustomed,  from  their  infancy,  to  regard 
the  Gentiles  as  excluded  from  the  favour  of  God,  and 
reciprocally  regarded,  by  the  Gentiles,  as  a  supersti- 
tious and  hateful  race.  Of  course,  as  soon  as  a  Gen- 
tile convert  appeared  among  them,  they  considered 
him  a  Jew,  and  expected  him  to  submit  to  all  their 
impositions,  observances,  worship  and  peculiarities. 
This  question,  then,  was  the  great  controversy  be- 
tween Paul,  the  apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  and  the 
churches,  which  he  had  planted  :  Does  the  reception 
of  Christianity  imply  the  reception  of  Judaism? 
You  will  instantly  perceive,  that  it  must  have  been 
a  source  of  inextinguishable  animosities,  discords, 
schisms,  complaints,  and  explanations.  To  establish 
this  great  truth  against  his  bigoted  countrymen,  the 


187 


possibility  of  salvation  out  of  the  pale  of  Judaism, 
and  to  settle  in  mutual  amity,  and  by  mutual  accom- 
modation, his  yet  unformed,  and  unconsolidated 
churches,  was  the  great  object  of  the  apostle  Paul. 
With  what  fidelity  he  maintains  the  generous  spirit 
of  the  christian  dispensation,  his  epistles  every  where 
discover.  It  Avas  his  continual  purpose  to  fix  it  in 
the  minds  of  his  spiritual  church,  that  now,  under 
the  gospel,  men  are,  every  where,  justified  by  faith, 
without  the  deeds  of  the  law.  The  condition  of  hu- 
man salvation  was  not  the  observance  of  any  external 
rites,  like  the  Mosaick,  not  the  belonging  to  any  na- 
tional church,  like  the  Jewish,  not  the  submission  to 
circumcision  and  the  burthensome  obligations  it  en- 
tailed, and  not  even  a  course  of  unsinning  obedience, 
which  was  at  all  times  impossible,  but  faith,  and  faith 
alone,  or  a  principle  of  sincere,  though  imperfect  obe- 
dience, a  principle,  beginning  in  belief,  discovering 
itself  in  love,  and  proved  and  fortified  by  persevering 
obedience.  It  was  his  perpetual  object  to  show  the 
Jews,  that  Christ  had  redeemed  them  and  the  whole 
world  from  the  curse  of  the  law — -which  no  man 
could  perfectly  fulfil,  and  which  denounced  death  on 
those  who  broke  it — and  had  placed  them  in  the  lib- 
erty of  the  sons  of  God.  It  was  his  glorious  resist- 
ance to  these  Jewish  impositions,  which  brought  upon 
him  the  hostility  of  his  nation,  and  involved  him  in 
perpetual  controversy,  and  exposed  him  to  perpetual 
suffering.    In  supporting  the  great  doctrine  of  justifi- 


188 


cation  by  faWi,  he  continually  reasons  with  them  from 
their  own  history,  their  own  prejudices,  and  their  na- 
tional principles,  when  uneorrupted.  He  shows,  that 
Abraham  himself,  the  father  of  their  nation,  on  their 
descent  from  whom  they  so  much  valued  themselves, 
obtained  the  favour  of  God  in  the  same  way,  in  which 
the  Gentiles  were  to  obtain  it ;  and  that  a  sincere 
principle  of  holiness,  and  not  the  terms  of  any  writ- 
ten law,  faith,  and  not  legal  perfection,  were  the  con- 
ditions of  salvation,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
It  is  only  by  keeping  in  mind  this  controversy,  and 
the  state  of  the  churches  to  which  Paul  wrote,  made 
up  of  Jews  and  Gentiles,  that  we  can  understand 
the  reasonings  of  the  apostle. 

4.  The  fourth  and  last  source  of  mistakes  and  ob- 
scurities in  the  epistles,  is  to  be  found  in  a  maxim  of 
interpretation,  which  has  too  much  prevailed,  without 
authority,  and  without  reason  :  "  that  we  must  ex- 
pect to  find,  in  the  present  circumstances  of  Christiani- 
ty, a  meaning  for,  or  something  answering  to,  every 
appellation  and  expression,  which  occurs  in  scripture; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  applying  to  the  personal  con- 
dition of  christians,  at  this  day,  those  titles,  phrases, 
propositions  and  arguments,  which  belong  solely  to 
the  situation  of  Christianity,  at  its  first  institution." 
The  instances,  which  might  be  brought  in  illustration 
of  this,  nre  numerous,  but  I  shall  confine  myself 
wo;  and  in  the  remarks,  which  I  shall 
shall  avail  myself  of  the  language  and  ait- 


189 


thority  of  Paley,  a  popular  and  unanswerable  advo- 
cate for  the  truth  of  the  gospel.* 

If,  my  christian  friends,  by  what  I  have  said  in 
this  discourse,  I  have  excited  a  stronger  desire  in  you 
to  read  and  study  these  oracles,  which  alone  reveal  the 
method  of  salvation  by  Jesus  Christ ;  if  I  have  given 
you  any  new  conceptions  of  the  worth  of  that  religion, 
which  such  a  man  as  Paul  was  labouring  to  sup- 
port ;  if  I  have  been  able  to  remove  any  prejudices 
against  any  portion  of  his  writings,  my  purpose  has 
been  answered.  May  God  open  your  hearts  to  un- 
derstand his  scriptures  !  The  more  you  read,  the 
more  you  will  love  them.  Compared  with  the  knowl- 
edge, which  they  contain,  every  other  subject  of  hu- 
man inquiry  is  vanity  and  emptiness.  Politicks,  phi- 
losophy, poetry,  and  all  the  pursuits  of  the  human 
mind,  are,  to  this,  the  chattering  and  plays  of  chil- 
dren. Here  search  for  the  doctrine  of  salvation. 
Sanctify  us,  O  God,  by  thy  truth  :  thy  word  is  truth. 

*  Here  followed,  in  the  original,  several  extracts  from  Paley's  "  Caution 
recommended  in  the  use  and  application  of  scripture  language,"  a  sermon, 
which  has  been  republished  at  Cambridge,  and  may  also  be  found  in  Paley's 
Works,  vol.  IV:  p.  29.   Boston  edition. 


SERMON  XII. 


JER.  xiii.  23. 

CAN  THE  ETHIOPIAN  CHANGE  HIS  SKIN,  OR  THE  LEOPARD  HIS 
SPOTS?  THEN  MAY  YE  ALSO  DO  GOOD,  THAT  ARE  ACCUSTOMED 
TO  DO  EVIL. 

THERE  is  no  proverb  more  common,  or  better 
understood  than  this,  that  habit  is  a  second  nature. 
It  is  an  observation,  which  the  slightest  knowledge  of 
the  human  mind  enables  us  to  make,  and  which  the 
shortest  life  is  long  enough  to  verify.  Habit  is  a  law 
of  our  condition,  of  vast  and  indispensable  advantage ; 
but,  like  all  other  general  laws,  operates  sometimes 
favourably,  and  sometimes  unfavourably,  to  the  hap- 
piness of  men.  Without  it,  there  would  be  nothing 
established  and  permanent  in  the  human  character; 
and  with  it,  much  is  rendered  permanent,  which  we 
should  rejoice  to  remove.  Without  it,  all  our  virtue 
would  consist  of  casual,  and  unconnected  acts,  on 
whose  repetition  we  could  never  calculate ;  with  it, 


191 


our  vices  become  firmly  associated,  mutually  depend- 
ent, and  hard  to  be  subdued.  Without  it,  our  best 
dispositions  would  be  nothing  more  than  transitory 
feelings,  our  friendships  and  our  loves  fickle  and 
momentary  passions ;  with  it,  our  lusts  become  invet- 
e,  and  the  nascent  propensities  of  a  sensual  and 

E  i  ish  heart  become,  at  length,  its  undisputed  tyrants. 
Without  it,  first  aversions  would  be  unconquerable, 
grief  would  continue  violent  and  excessive,  and  man 
could  never  be  reconciled  to  any  unwelcome  change 
of  circumstances,  however  unavoidable ;  but  with  it, 
the  sharpness  of  remorse,  too,  is  easily  blunted,  the 
horrour,  which  attends  the  first  perpetration  of  a 
crime,  is  soon  dissipated,  and  the  effectual  reforma- 
tion of  a  vicious  character  often  proves  a  desperate 
expectation.  Without  it,  in  fine,  the  characters  of 
men  would  be  indescribable,  unstable  and  incapable 
of  improvement ;  education  would  be  vain  ;  example, 
fruitless  ;  and  discipline,  ineffectual  cruelty ;  but  with 
it,  also,  prejudices  are  rooted,  and  vice  becomes  invet- 
erate, before  the  mind  is  sufficiently  strong  to  examine 
the  one  or  reject  the  other  5  and  early  impressions, 
together  with  painful  and  perpetual  vigilance,  are 
necessary  to  the  security  of  virtue.    Indeed,  on  this 

dversal  law,  that  habit  renders  stable,  what  was 
before  fluctuating ;  pleasant,  what  was  before  painful ; 
ig?  what  was  before  weak ;  easy,  what  was  be- 
difficult;  and  morally  certain,  what  was  before 
1 1,  depends  the  character  of  man  here,  and, 
intly,  his  condition  hereafter. 


192 

If  it  were  not  in  some  measure  inconsistent  with 
ihe  dignity  of  publick  religious  instruction,  I  could 
refer  you  to  a  multitude  of  familiar  illustrations  of  the 
power  of  habit.  But  it  is  enough,  that  we  have  all 
observed,  in  general,  that,  what  is  at  first  disagreea- 
ble to  any  of  our  senses,  becomes  less  unpleasant  by 
repetition,  so  that  we  may  be,  at  length,  reconciled,  as 
it  is  termed,  to  what  was,  at  first,  our  aversion.  On 
the  contrary,  impressions,  in  themselves  originally 
pleasant,  become,  when  often  repeated,  so  necessary 
to  our  happiness,  that,  though  every  successive  act  of 
indulgence  affords  less  absolute  pleasure  than  the 
preceding,  the  general  propensity  is  continually  gain- 
ing strength ;  and,  while  the  perception  of  pleasure, 
in  every  particular  instance,  is  lessening,  desire,  on  the 
whole,  increases,  and  the  pain  of  deprivation  becomes 
greater  and  greater. 

It  is  our  intention,  at  present,  to  consider  this  law 
of  our  nature  in  its  influence  on  the  moral  character. 
We  shall,  first,  say  something  of  the  ease,  with  which 
evil  habits  are  formed;  secondly,  of  those  circum- 
stances, which  make  it  so  difficult  to  subdue  them  ; 
and,  lastly,  dwell  on  the  consequences,  which  follow 
from  our  view  of  the  subject. 

1.  To  form  a  vicious  habit,  is  one  of  the  easiest 
processes  in  nature.  Man  comes  into  a  world,  where 
sin  is,  in  many  of  its  various  forms,  originally  plea- 
sant, and  where  evil  propensities  may  be  gratified  at 
small  expense.  The  necessary  indulgence  of  appe- 
tite, and  the  first  use  of  the  senses  would  make  us 


193 


all  sensual  and  selfish  from  our  birth,  if  the  kind  pro- 
vision,  which  heaven  has  made  of  suffering,  of  in- 
struction and  of  various  discipline,  did  not  sometimes 
break  the  propensities,  which  we  bring  with  us  from 
the  cradle.  Nothing  is  required,  but  to  leave  man  to 
what  is  called  the  state  of  nature,  to  make  him  the 
slave  of  habitual  sensuality. 

But  even  after  the  mind  is,  in  some  degree,  forti- 
fied by  education,  and  reason  has  acquired  a  degree  of 
force,  the  ease,  with  which  a  bad  habit  can  be  ac- 
quired, is  not  less  to  be  lamented.  If,  indeed,  the 
conscience  were  to  struggle  with  sin,  in  fair,  open, 
and  direct  contest,  it  would  not  so  often  and  so  rea- 
dily yield.  But  sin  enters,  not  by  breach  or  esca- 
lade, but  by  cunning  or  treachery.  It  presents  itself, 
not  as  sin,  but  as  innocence,  when  your  watchfulness 
is  hushed  to  sleep,  or  the  eye  of  reason  diverted. 
Vice  gains  its  power  by  insinuation.  It  winds  gently 
round  the  soul,  without  being  felt,  till  its  twines  be- 
come so  numerous,  that  the  sinner,  like  the  wretched 
Laocoon,  writhes  in  vain  to  extricate  himself,  and  his 
faculties  are  crushed,  at  length,  in  the  folds  of  the 
serpent. 

If  the  first  entrance  of  vice  is  so  easy,  every  suc- 
cessive act,  which  is  to  form  the  habit,  is  easier  than 
the  last.  The  taste  of  pleasure  provokes  the  appe- 
tite. If  conscience  receive  no  aid,  when  the  tempta- 
tion returns,  the  victory  will  be  easier,  and  the  triumph 
more  complete.  If  no  evil  consequences  immediate- 
ly follow,  if  the  sentence  of  reproach,  of  infamy,  or 
25 


194* 


gf  natural  punishment,  be  not  speedily  executed,  con- 
science, thus  unsupported,  is  not  heard  or  not  credited. 
If,  however,  reproach  should  follow,  or  infamy  be 
apprehended,  the  culprit  may  either  be  driven  to  the 
society  of  the  shameless,  or  attempt  some  new  vice 
to  conceal,  or  varnish,  or  vindicate  the  former. 

This  leads  to  observe  further,  that  no  evil  habit  can 
long  exist  alone.  Yice  is  prolifick.  It  is  no  solitary 
invader.  Admit  one  of  its  train,  and  it  immediately 
introduces,  with  an  irresistible  air  of  insinuation,  the 
multitude  of  its  fellows,  who  promise  you  liberty, 
but  whose  service  is  corruption,  and  whose  wages  is 
death.  Enter  not,  then,  into  the  path  of  the  wicked, 
and  go  not  in  the  way  of  evil  men.  Avoid  it,  pass 
not  by  it,  turn  from  it,  and  pass  away. 

2.  The  effects  of  sinful  indulgence,  which  make 
its  relinquishment  so  difficult,  are,  that  it  perverts  the 
moral  discernment,  benumbs  the  sensibility  of  con- 
science, destroys  the  sentiment  of  shame,  and  separates 
the  sinner  from  the  means  and  opportunities  of  con- 
version. The  moral  discernment  is  perverted.  Where 
sin  is  practised,  it  must  be  excused.  Passion  is 
called  in  to  make  the  apology ;  sophistry  supplies 
the  heads  of  the  defence.  Stern  moral  precepts  are 
entangled  by  equivocations,  subtile  exceptions,  and 
ingenious  perplexities. 

Again,  by  sinful  indulgence,  the  sensibility  of 
conscience  is  deadened.  As  the  taste  can  be  recon- 
ciled to  the  most  nauseous  and  unpleasant  impres- 
sions, the  eye  familiarized  to  a  deformed  object,  the 


195 


ear,  to  the  most  grating  and  discordant  noises,  and  the 
feeling,  to  the  most  rough  and  irritating  garment,  so  the 
moral  tact  becomes  insensible  to  the  loathsomeness  of 
vice.  It  is,  perhaps,  true,  that,  in  the  regular,  smooth 
tenour  of  the  life  of  a  well-principled  man,  a  single 
transgression  or  inconsiderate  step  may,  sometimes, 
prove  the  means  of  awakening  the  vigour  of  con- 
science, and  increasing,  for  a  time,  its  sensibility.  But 
it  is  not  so  with  the  young  and  immature.  If  in  them 
passion,  desire,  or  appetite  be  fed  and  gratified,  while 
conscience  is  unenlightened  and  unfortified,  the  moral 
sense  will  always  be  imperfect,  a  neglected  part  of  the 
mental  constitution,  and,  like  a  contracted,  shrunken 
limb,  will  be  without  feeling  and  without  use.  How 
many  of  those,  who  enter  daily  upon  the  intercourse  of 
life,  do  we  see  destitute  of  any  delicacy  of  moral  feel- 
ing ?  Their  senses,  in  the  language  of  the  apostle,  have 
never  been  exercised  by  use  to  discern  between  good 
and  evil.  They  call  evil,  good  ;  and  good,  evil.  They 
shudder,  perhaps,  at  murder,  perceive  the  guilt  of 
robbery,  and  of  the  grosser  offences  against  the  peace 
and  order  of  society ;  but  of  the  nicer  distinctions  of 
virtue  and  vice,  of  interestedness  and  disinterested- 
ness, of  honour  and  disgrace,  of  holiness  and  impu- 
rity, they  have  few  and  imperfeet  notions.  Hence 
they  fall  an  easy  prey  to  any  indirect  temptation. 
Conscience,  blunt  and  unexercised,  cannot  discern 
the  tendency  of  a  first  step.    Taking  no  alarm,  it 
offers  no  resistance.  If,  then,  the  conscience  of  the 
young  can  become  thus  dull,  merely  by  neglect,  how 


196 


impenetrable  and  callous  may  it  prove  by  repeated 
acts  of  deliberate  iniquity,  and  a  long  course  of  pro- 
fligacy and  crime?  In  such  a  state,  termed  by  divines 
a  judicial  hardness  of  heart,  all  the  usual  means  of 
reformation  are  ineffectual.  The  gentle  dews  of  in- 
struction distil  in  vain  on  the  close  and  clayey  soil  of 
a  hardened  heart.  It  imbibes  nothing,  it  retains 
nothing,  it  produces  nothing.  The  curse  of  God 
seems  to  rest  upon  it,  and  man  relinquishes  it  to 
perpetual  sterility,  Ephraim  is  joined  to  idols,  let 
him  alone. 

Another  effect  of  habitual  transgression  is,  to 
banish  the  sentiment  of  shame.  Do  not  accuse  me 
of  repetition ;  for  the  sense  of  shame  is  not  the  same 
with  the  sense  of  right  and  wrong.  The  first  refers 
to  the  opinion  of  man ;  the  other,  to  that  of  God. 
These  principles  are  often  found  in  very  unequal 
proportions  in  men  of  real  estimation.  In  some  men, 
a  regard  to  the  world's  opinion  is  ever  alive,  while 
conscience  is  uninformed,  or  unexercised;  in  others, 
a  sense  of  the  guilt  of  an  action,  and  of  the  abhor- 
rence of  heaven,  seems  to  absorb  the  shame  of  it. 
Now  it  is  the  tendency  of  habit,  to  make  a  man  re- 
gardless of  observation,  and,  at  length,  of  censure.  He 
soon  imagines,  that  others  see  nothing  offensive  in 
what  no  longer  offends  himself.  After  the  commission 
of  a  sin,  justly  concluding,  that  repentance  will  not 
restore  him  to  the  same  station  in  the  world's  esteem, 
which  lie  held  before  his  lapse,  he  draws  another 
consequence,  that,  by  a  repetition  of  his  offence,  he 


197 


has  less  of  credit  to  lose  than  at  first.  Besides,  a  vi- 
cious man  easily  gathers  round  him  a  circle  of  his 
own.  Though  iniquity  may  not  be  unpunished,  when 
hand  joins  in  hand,  yet  is  it  often  unabashed.  It  is 
not  solitary  crimes,  which  deceive  the  moral  discern- 
ment, and  obscure  the  perception  of  disgrace.  It  is  the 
society  of  numbers,  which  gives  hardihood  to  iniquity, 
when  the  sophistry  of  the  united  ingenuity  of  others 
comes  in  aid  of  our  own,  and  when,  in  the  presence  of 
the  shameless  and  unblushing,  the  young  offender  is 
ashamed  to  blush.  It  is  painful,  ah  cruelly  painful,  to 
see  the  colour,  which  used  to  rush  into  the  cheek  of  in- 
genuous youth  at  the  suspicion  of  fraud,  at  the  mention 
of  indecency,  or  the  sight  of  corruption,  gradually  retir- 
ing, and  giving  place  to  the  bold  stare  of  riotous  vice, 
or  to  the  oppressive  stupidity  of  habitual  drunkenness. 

The  last  effect  of  vicious  habits,  by  which  the  re- 
formation of  the  sinner  is  rendered  almost  desperate, 
is,  to  separate  him  from  the  means  of  grace.  He,  who 
indulges  himself  in  any  passion,  lust,  or  custom,  which 
openly  or  secretly  offends  against  the  laws  of  God  or 
man,  will  find  an  insuperable  reluctance  to  those  pla- 
ces, persons,  or  principles,  by  which  he  is  necessarily 
condemned.  Can  he,  whose  life  is  a  perpetual  in- 
sult to  the  authority  of  God,  a  well  known  scandal  to 
the  name  of  christian,  enter,  with  any  pleasure,  a  tem- 
ple, consecrated  to  devotion,  sanctified  by  prayer,  hal- 
lowed by  pure  affections,  where  the  oracles  of  God 
are  announced,  where  you  seem  to  approach  nearer 
to  the  seat  of  Deity,  and  where  the  who1©  process  of 


198 


instruction  and  of  worship  crosses  his  propensities, 
and  alarms  his  conscience?  Will  he  dare,  without 
doubting,  to  lift  up  his  hands  in  prayer,  who  must 
exhibit  them  to  the  view  of  his  fellow-worshippers, 
soiled  with  corruption  and  fraudulent  gains,  or,  per- 
haps, stained  with  blood?  Will  he,  who  is  burning 
with  lust,  or  indulging  in  habitual  excesses  of  refined 
voluptuousness,  open  at  home  that  holy  volume,  where 
the  utmost  purity  and  chastity  of  affection  is  inculcat- 
ed, if  he  can  turn  easily  to  pages  written  on  purpose 
to  debauch  the  imagination  and  sophisticate  the  judg- 
ment ?  Can  it  be  expected,  too,  that  he,  who  daily  and 
nightly  rushes  into  dissipation,  to  relieve  a  tedium, 
which  uniformly  recurs,  whenever  he  is  alone  for  a 
few  hours,  should  voluntarily  indulge  in  serious  medi- 
tation, or  dare  to  commune  with  his  own  heart?  One 
means  of  recovery  yet  remains,  the  reproof  and  ex- 
ample of  the  good.  But  who  will  long  bear  the  pre- 
sence of  another,  whose  very  looks  reprove  him, 
whose  words  harrow  up  his  conscience,  and  whose 
whole  life  is  a  severe,  though  silent  admonition  ? 

We  cannot  dwell  long  on  the  consideration  of  that 
dreadful  condition  of  the  habitual  sinner,  when,  in 
the  language  of  scripture,  he  is  given  up  to  hopeless- 
ness, hardness  of  heart,  blindness  of  eyes,  deafness  of 
ears,  or,  in  other  words,  to  absolute  moral  insensibil- 
ity. The  thought  is  too  painful.  This  is  sometimes 
considered  in  the  light  of  a  punishment ;  and  to  vin- 
dicate the  justice  of  such  a  dereliction  by  heaven, 
would  neither  be  difficult,  nor  without  its  use.    It  is 


199 


often  said,  that,  as  long  as  life  lasts,  hope  remains. 
We  are  encouraged  to  believe,  that  the  grave  is  the 
only  place,  where 

"  Hope  never  comes, 
"  That  comes  to  all." 
But  every  man's  observation  will  furnish  him  with 
instances  of  characters,  whose  reformation  from  long 
habits  of  iniquity  seems  as  morally  impossible,  whose 
consciences  appear  to  be  as  impenetrable  to  the  common 
methods  of  grace,  as  if  they  wrere  really  sunk  in  the 
sleep  of  death,  and  the  clods  had  hardened  and  the 
weeds  matted  over  their  graves.  Nothing  in  the  general 
nature  of  God's  moral  government  would  lead  us  to 
conclude,  that  he  is  obliged  to  continue  his  methods 
of  discipline  beyond  a  certain  limit ;  and  who  shall 
say,  that  this  limit  must  coincide  with  the  termination 
of  life  ?  The  day  of  grace  may  be  shorter,  than  the 
day  of  nature.  "Why  should  they  be  stricken 
any  more,  for  they  will  only  revolt  more  and  more." 

Thus  have  we  attempted  to  explain  the  nature  and 
effects  of  vicious  habits.  We  have  seen,  that,  by  repe- 
tition, whatever  of  reluctance  existed  at  first,  is  gradu- 
ally removed,  and  whatever  of  desire  existed,  is  increas- 
ed, though  the  degree  of  pleasure,  in  each  particular 
gratification,  diminishes.  These  laws  are  common  to  all 
habits,  as  well  as  to  those  of  vice.  But,  in  addition 
to  this,  all  sin  is  peculiarly  deceitful  and  insinuating, 
prolifick  and  progressive.  One  vice  associates  multi- 
tudes with  itself.  The  peculiar  inveteracy  of  sinful 
habits,  and  the  difficulty  of  reformation  are  increased, 


200 


as  we  have  also  seen  by  the  following  attendant  ef- 
fects, the  corruption  of  moral  discernment,  the  dull- 
ness of  moral  feeling,  the  loss  of  the  sense  of  shame, 
and  an  exclusion  from  the  customary  means  of  reli- 
gious improvement.  When  the  Ethiopian,  then,  shall 
whiten  his  skin,  or  the  leopard  wash  out  his  spots, 
then  may  they  also  do  good,  who  are  accustomed  to 
do  evil. 

3.  There  is  nothing  in  the  moral  constitution  of 
man,  from  which  such  interesting  consequences  fol- 
low, as  from  the  nature  of  vicious  habits,  if  it  be  such 
as  we  have  represented  it.  If,  also,  it  should  be  found, 
that  there  is  no  period  in  the  life  of  man  so  early,  that 
these  habits  may  not  be  generated  or  confirmed,  into 
what  consequence  does  childhood,  nay  infancy, 
rise?  Here,  in  the  babes  at  the  breast,  may  we 
see  the  generation,  which  shall  succeed  us.  Here 
is  the  embryo  character  of  the  next  age.  The  first  re- 
flection, then,  which  we  shall  at  present  deduce  from 
this  subject,  is,  that  if  the  child  is  trained  up  in  the 
way  he  should  go,  when  he  is  old,  he  will  not  depart 
from  it. 

O,  that  I  could  open  to  you  the  little  breasts  of  your 
offspring,  and  show  you  the  gradual  and  certain  pro- 
cess, which  is  carried  on  from  the  moment  of  birth ! 
There  might  you  see  dispositions  forming,  passions 
generating,  prejudices  starting  into  life,  and  all  the 
future  character  bound  up  in  the  narrow  compass  of 
an  infant's  mind.  Do  you  ask,  when  education  should 
commence  ?  Believe  me,  it  has  begun.  It  began  with 


201 

die  first  idea  they  received — the  insensible  education 
of  circumstances  and  example.   While  you  arc  wait- 
ing for  their  understandings  to  gain  strength,  vice, 
folly,  and  pleasure  have  not  waited  your  dilatory 
motions.    While  you  are  looking  out  for  masters  and 
mistresses,  the  young  immortals  are  under  the  tuition 
of  innumerable  instructers.    Passion  has  been  excit- 
ing, and  idleness  relaxing  them,  appetite  tempting, 
and  pleasure  rewarding  them,  and  example,  example 
has  long  since  entered  them  into  her  motley  school. 
Already  have  they  learned  much,  which  will  never  be 
forgotten  :  the  alphabet  of  vice  is  easily  remembered. 
Wait,  then,  no  longer,  ere  your  instructions  commence. 
The  ground  is  already  softened,  the  season  has  al- 
ready far  advanced,  and,  while  you  are  either  sleep- 
ing, or  making  arrangements,  or  waiting  for  greater 
maturity,  thistles  are  sown  in  secret,  tares  are  spring- 
ing up  in  the  night. 

It  is  impossible  to  assign  a  time  in  the  infant's 
life,  in  which  something  may  not  be  done  for  its  fu- 
ture disposition.  If  it  have  any  original  perversities 
of  temper,  do  not  wait  till  this  perversity  is  made  in- 
flexible by  habit.  You  would  not  delay  to  straiten 
a  crooked  limb,  to  correct  an  awkward  position,  to 
counteract  a  stuttering  articulation,  till  the  limbs 
were  full  grown,  the  gait  fixed,  and  the  organs 
conformed  to  an  indistinct  mode  of  utterance.  If, 
however,  the  greater  part  of  what  are  called  original 
propensities  be,  in  fact,  acquired  ;  if  envy,  malice,  ir- 
ritability, selfishness,  and  pride  be,  for  the  most  part, 
26 


£02 

mental  habits;  which,  like  opinions  and  practices,  are 
rooted  by  repetition ;  if  the  colour  of  the  soul  be  not 
original  and  engrained,  but,  like  the  varieties  of  com- 
plexion, dependent  on  the  operation  of  external  cir- 
cumstances, Iioav  inexcusable  is  the  delay  of  instruc- 
tion, of  persuasion,  of  impression,  and  of  direction,  of 
which  the  youngest  hearts  are  most  tenderly  suscep- 
tible ?  Especially,  remember,  that  their  habits  are 
soonest  caught  by  example.  These  little  vines, 
which  wind  round  your  trunk,  and  depend  upon  you 
for  support,  will  extend  themselves  upon  your 
branches,  following  out  the  direction,  and  conform- 
ing to  the  irregularities  of  the  limbs,  which  they  en- 
twine. And  what  is  the  first  example,  which  fixes 
their  attention?  Is  it  not  your  own?  Are  not  you  the 
first  props,  to  which  these  tendrils  attach  themselv  es  ? 
And  is  it  not  time  to  ask  yourselves,  whether  you  will 
consent,  that  they  should  follow  you  throughout  the 
w  hole  of  your  character  ?  Is  it  not  time  to  examine, 
whether  there  be  not  in  you  some  vicious  habit, 
which,  notwithstanding  your  caution,  frequently  pre- 
sents itself  to  their  greedy  observation,  thus  recom- 
mended by  all  the  weight  of  parental  authority  ? 

But,  though  the  doctrine  of  the  early  operation  of 
habit  be  full  of  admonitions,  which  the  affectionate 
parent  can  hardly  hear  without  the  liveliest  anxiety, 
it  presents  consequences,  also,  full  of  consolation  and 
pleasure.  God  hath  set  the  evil  and  the  good,  one 
over  against  the  other :  and  all  his  general  laws  are 
adapted  to  produce  effects  ultimately  beneficial.  If 


203 


the  love  of  sensual  pleasure  become  inveterate  by  in- 
dulgence, the  pure  love  of  truth  and  goodness,  also, 
may,  by  early  instillation  and  careful  example,  be- 
come so  natural  and  constant,  that  a  violation  of  in- 
tegrity, an  offence  against  gratitude,  a  breach  of  pu- 
rity, or  of  reverence  toward   God,  may  prove  as 
painful  as  a  wound.    You  know,  how  common  are 
the  promises  of  scripture  to  early  piety.    Now  these 
promises  are  not  arbitrary  and  partial  annexations  of 
reward  to  a  quality,  which  is  not  really  of  more  in- 
trinsick  worth  atone  period,  than  at  another;  but  they 
express  the  security  and  perfection  in  virtue,  which 
that  character  may  attain,  which  is  early  hallowed  in 
the  service  of  God.    Those,  who  seek  God  early, 
shall  easily  find  him.    Begin,  then,  now  that  they 
have  no  steps  to  retrace.    Their  hearts  are  now  all 
alive  to  gratitude,  their  minds  full  of  curiosity,  ready 
to  drink  in  instruction ;  selfishness  has  not  yet  monop- 
olized all  the  avenues  to  their  affections ;  you  have  no 
hard  associations  to  break,  no  deep-rooted  prejudices 
to  clear  away.    Their  only  prejudice  is  one  that  will 
assist  your  endeavours,  that  is,  an  unsuspecting  reli- 
ance on  your  knowledge,  wisdom,  love  and  power. 
Associate,  then,  in  their  minds,  the  idea  of  God  with 
the  recollection  of  yourselves ;  and  remember,  that,  if 
they  have  found  you  excessively  indulgent,  or  habit- 
ually negligent,  or  unreasonably  severe,  or  manifest- 
ly partial,  or  notoriously  indifferent  to  their  moral 
progress,  you  are  not  to  wonder,  if  they  transfer  to- 


£04 


the  universal  parent  the  character,  which  they  have 
found  to  belong  to  their  fathers  after  the  flesh. 

The  second  reflection,  suggested  by  this  survey  of 
the  moral  constitution  and  condition  of  man,  is,  the 
folly  and  danger  of  delaying  repentance.  Look  back, 
I  entreat  you,  on  your  past  lives,  and  number,  if  you 
can,  the  resolutions  you  have  broken.  And  why  is  it, 
that  we  see  so  little  of  reformation,  after  a  certain 
period,  after  the  employments  aud  mode  of  life  are 
established  ?  It  is,  because  the  time  of  repentance  is 
perpetually  procrastinated ;  because,  when  conscience, 
like  an  odious  creditor,  begins  to  expostulate  with 
you,  you  find  some  excuse  for  dismissing  her  claims  ; 
you  say,  at  every  application,  go  thy  way  for  this  time, 
when  I  have  a  more  convenient  season,  I  will  call  for 
thee.  She  retires  unsatisfied  ;  the  debt  accumulates, 
and  your  resources  are  daily  diminishing,  till  the 
hour  of  death  arrives,  and  completes  the  bankruptcy 
of  the  soul. 

It  has  been  most  acutely  and  justly  observed,  that 
all  resolutions  to  repent,  at  a  future  time,  are  neces- 
sarily insincere,  and  must  be  a  mere  deception ;  be- 
cause they  imply  a  preference  of  a  man's  present 
habits  and  conduct ;  they  imply,  that  he  is  really  un- 
willing to  change  them,  and  that  nothing  but  neces- 
sity would  lead  him  to  make  any  attempt  of  the  kind. 
But  let  us  suppose  the  expected  leisure  for  repent- 
ance to  have  arrived;  the  avaricious  or  fraudulent 
dealer  to  have  attained  that  competency,  which  is  to 


305 


i 


secure  him  from  want ;  the  profligate  and  debauched 
to  have  passed  the  slippery  season  of  youth,  and  to 
be  established  in  life  ;  the  gamester,  by  one  success- 
ful throw,  to  have  recovered  his  desperate  finances  ; 
the  dissipated  and  luxurious  to  have  secured  a  peace- 
ful retreat  for  the  remainder  of  his  days — to  each  of 
these  the  long  anticipated  hour  of  amendment,  the 
opportune  leisure  for  religion  has,  at  length,  arriv- 
ed; but  where,  alas,  is  the  disposition,  where  the 
necessary  strength  of  resolution  !  How  rare,  and,  I 
had  almost  said,  how  miraculous,  is  the  instance  of  a 
change ! 

The  danger  of  delay,  even  if  we  suppose  this  un- 
certain leisure  and  inclination  to  be  secured,  is  incon- 
ceivably heightened,  when  we  consider,  further,  the 
nature  of  repentance.  It  is  a  settled  change  of  the 
disposition  from  vice  to  virtue,  discovered  in  the  gra- 
dual improvement  of  the  life.  It  is  not  a  fleeting 
wish,  a  vapoury  sigh,  a  lengthened  groan.  Neither 
is  it  a  twinge  of  remorse,  a  flutter  of  fear,  nor  any 
temporary  and  partial  resolution.  The  habits  of  a 
sinner  have  been  long  in  forming.  They  have  ac- 
quired a  strength,  which  is  not  to  be  broken  by  a 
blow.  The  labour  of  a  day  will  not  build  up  a  vir- 
tuous habit  on  the  ruins  of  an  old  and  vicious  char- 
acter. You,  then,  who  have  deferred,  from  year  to 
year,  the  relinquishment  of  a  vice  ;  you,  if  such  there 
be,  who,  while  the  wrinkles  are  gathering  in  your 
foreheads,  are  still  dissatisfied  with  yourselves,  re- 
member, that  amendment  is  a  slow  and  laborious  pro- 


;20(5 


ces*.  Can  you  be  too  assiduous,  too  fearful,  when 
you  consider,  how  short  the  opportunity,  and  how 
much  is  required,  to  complete  the  work  of  reforma- 
tion, and  to  establish  the  dominion  of  virtue  ? 

It  is  impossible  to  dismiss  this  subject,  without 
considering  a  common  topick,  the  inefficacy  of  a 
death-bed  repentance.  It  is  to  be  feared,  that  chari- 
ly, which  hopeth  and  bclieveth  all  things,  has  some- 
times discovered  more  of  generous  credulity,  than  of 
well-founded  hope,  when  it  has  laid  great  stress,  and 
built  much  consolation,  on  the  casual  expressions  and 
faint  sighs  of  dying  men.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  ex- 
cite suspicion,  or  recall  anxiety  in  the  breast  of  sur- 
viving friendship,  or  to  throw  a  new  shade  of  terrour 
over  the  valley  of  death ;  but  better,  far  bettei*,  were 
it  for  a  thousand  breasts  to  be  pierced  with  tempo- 
rary anguish,  and  a  new  horrour  be  added  to  the 
dreary  passage  of  the  grave,  than  that  one  soul  be 
lost  to  heaven  by  the  delusive  expectation  of  effec- 
tual repentance  in  a  dying  hour.  For,  as  we  have 
repeatedly  asked,  what  is  effectual  repentance  ?  Can 
it  be  supposed,  that,  where  the  vigour  of  life  has  been 
spent  in  the  establishment  of  vicious  propensities, 
where  all  the  vivacity  of  youth,  all  the  soberness  of 
manhood,  and  all  the  leisure  of  old  age,  have  been 
given  to  the  service  of  sin,  where  vice  has  been 
growing  with  the  growth,  and  strengthening  with  the 
strength,  where  it  has  spread  out  with  the  limbs  o£ 
the  stripling,  and  become  rigid  with  the  fibres  of  the 
aged,  can  it,  I  say,  be  supposed,  that  the  labours  of 


207 


such  a  life  are  to  be  overthrown  by  one  last  exertion 
of  a  mind,  impaired  with  disease,  by  the  convulsive, 
exercise  of  an  affrighted  spirit,  and  by  the  inarticu- 
late and  feeble  sounds  of  an  expiring  breath?  Re- 
pentance consists  not  in  one  or  more  acts  of  contri- 
tion; it  is  a  permanent  change  of  the  disposition. 
Those  dispositions  and  habits  of  mind,  which  you 
bring  to  your  dying  bed,  you  will  carry  with  you  to 
another  w  orld.  These  habits  are  the  dying  dress  of 
the  soul.  They  are  the  grave- cloaths,  in  which  it 
must  come  forth,  at  the  last,  to  meet  the  sentence  of 
an  impartial  judge.  If  they  were  filthy,  they  will  be 
filthy  still.  The  washing  of  baptismal  water  will  not. 
at  that  hour,  cleanse  the  spots  of  the  soul.  The  con- 
fession of  sins,  which  have  never  been  removed,  will 
not  furnish  the  conscience  with  an  answ  er  towards 
God.  The  reception  of  the  elements  will  not  then 
infuse  a  principle  of  spiritual  life,  any  more  than  un- 
consecrated  bread  and  wine  will  infuse  health  into 
the  limbs,  on  which  the  cold  damps  of  death  have  al- 
ready collected.  Say  not,  that  you  have  discarded 
such  superstitious  expectations.  You  have  not  dis- 
carded them,  while  you  defer  any  thing  to  that  hour, 
while  you  venture  to  rely  on  any  thing  but  the  mercy 
of  God  toward  a  heart,  holy,  sincere  and  sanctified, 
a  heart,  which  loves  Heaven  for  its  purity,  and  God 
for  his  goodness.  If,  in  this  solemn  hour,  the  soul  of 
an  habitual  and  inveterate  offender  be  prepared  for 
the  residence  of  pure  and  spotless  spirits,  it  can  be 
only  by  a  sovereign  and  miraculous  interposition  of 


omnipotence.  His  power  we  pretend  not  to  limit. 
He  can  wash  the  sooty  Ethiop  white,  and  cause  the 
spots  on  the  leopard's  skin  to  disappear.  We  pre- 
sume not  to  fathom  the  counsels  of  his  will ;  but  this 
we  will  venture  to  assert,  that  if,  at  the  last  hour  of 
the  sinner's  life,  the  power  of  God  ever  interposes  to 
snatch  him  from  his  ruin,  such  interposition  ay  ill 
never  be  disclosed  to  the  curiosity  of  man.  For,  if 
it  should  once  be  believed,  that  the  rewards  of  hea- 
ven can  be  obtained  by  such  an  instantaneous  and 
miraculous  change  at  the  last  hour  of  life,  all  our 
ideas  of  moral  probation,  and  of  the  connexion  be- 
tween character  here  and  condition  hereafter,  are 
loose,  unstable,  and  groundless,  the  nature  and  the 
laws  of  God's  moral  government  are  made,  at  once, 
inexplicable,  our  exhortations  are  useless,  our  expe- 
rience false,  and  the  whole  apparatus  of  gospel  means 
and  motives  becomes  a  cumbrous  and  unnecessary 
provision. 

What,  then,  is  the  great  conclusion,  which  we 
should  deduce  from  all  that  we  have  said  of  the  na- 
ture of  habit,  and  the  difficulty  of  repentance  ?  It  is 
this.  Behold',  now  is  the  accepted  time,  now  is  the 
day  of  salvation.  If  you  are  young,  you  cannot  be- 
gin too  soon;  if  you  are  old,  you  may  begin  too  late. 
Age,  says  the  proverb,  strips  us  of  every  thing,  even 
of  resolution.  Tomorrow  we  shall  be  older;  to- 
morrow, indeed,  death  may  fix  his  seal  forever  on  our 
characters.  It  is  a  seal,  which  can  never  be  broken, 
till  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  man  shall  burst  the  tombs, 


209 


which  enclose  us.  If,  then,  we  leave  this  place,  sen- 
sible  of  a  propensity,  which  ought  to  be  restrained, 
of  a  lust,  which  ought  to  be  exterminated,  of  a  habit, 
which  ought  to  be  broken,  and  rashly  defer  the  hour 
of  amendment,  consider,  I  beseech  you,  it  may,  per- 
haps, be  merciful  in  God  to  refuse  us  another  oppor- 
tunity. It  may  be  a  gracious  method  of  preventing 
an  abuse,  which  will  only  aggravate  the  retribution, 
which  awaits  the  impenitent.  Make  haste,  then,  and 
delay  not  to  keep  the  commandments  of  God ;  of  that 
God,  who  has  no  pleasure  in  the  death  of  the  wick- 
ed, but  that  the  wicked  turn  from  his  way,  and  live. 


*7 


SERMON  XIII. 


MATTHEW  x.  32. 

WHOSOEVER   SHALL   CONFESS   ME   BEFORE    MEN,    HIM   WILL  I 
ALSO   CONFESS   BEFORE   MY  FATHER,  WHICH  IS  IN  HEAVEN. 

NO  man  can  read  the  discourses  of  our  Saviour 
with  his  disciples,  without  observing,  how  frequently 
he  insists  upon  the  necessity  of  courage  and  fortitude 
in  his  followers.  Never  was  a  leader  less  studious 
to  conceal  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  service, 
in  which  his  adherents  were  to  engage ;  and  never 
was  the  fidelity  of  disciples  more  severely  proved, 
than  was  the  fidelity  of  the  first  converts  at  the  com- 
mencement of  our  religion.  With  only  twelve  con- 
stant companions  Jesus  began  his  preaching.  Their 
dispositions,  as  various  as  their  employments  and  ca- 
pacities, were  all  to  be  trained  up  for  a  perilous  ser- 
vice. There  was  Matthew,  called  unexpectedly  from 
the  profits  of  a  lucrative  trade  ;  Peter,  ardent,  confi- 
dent, ambitious,  but  inconstant ;  John,  affectionate, 


211 


gentle,  amiable,  but  unenterprising;  Thomas,  slow 
to  believe,  quick  to  doubt,  and  curious  to  examine  ; 
.In das,  dark,  designing,  covetous  and  treacherous ; 
with  several  others,  who  joined  themselves  to  Jesus, 
full  of  indefinite  hopes,  and  solicitous  to  share  in  the 
emoluments  and  dignities,  which  they  daily  expected 
their  master  would  dispense.    Such  were  the  minds, 
w  hich  our  Saviour  was  to  prepare  for  disappointment, 
and  discipline  to  courage  and  endurance.     To  the 
worldly  among  them  he  talked,  sometimes  of  the  un- 
certainty, and  sometimes  of  the  worthlessness  of  pres- 
ent possessions  ;  here  placing  before  them  pictures  of 
poverty,  and  there  recommending  to  them  treasures  in 
heaven.    To  the  ambitious  he  discoursed  of  humility, 
of  contentment,  and  laborious  servitude,  studiously 
undervaluing  the  easy  dignities  and  powerful  stations, 
to  which  they  aspired.    To  the  wavering  and  doubt- 
ful he  proposed  frequent  experiments  of  their  confi- 
dence, and  insisted  on  the  excellence  of  faith.  To 
the  gentle  and  feeble-minded  he  talked  of  impedi- 
ments, hardships,  disgrace,  persecutions,  and  death. 
To  the  treacherous  he  entrusted  the  purse,  which 
contained  the  stock  of  the  little  company,  that  the 
traitor  might  see,  how  little  the  success  of  the  gospel 
and  the  support  of  its  followers  depended  on  money, 
which  thieves  like  him  could  pilfer,  and  on  fidelity  like 
his,  which  lasted  as  long  only,  as  it  was  serviceable 
to  the  purposes  of  his  avarice.    Such  was  the  tenour 
of  the  conversations,  by  which  our  Saviour  was  con- 
tinually preparing  the  minds  of  his  disciples  for  the 


severities,  which  they  were  soon  to  suffer  ;  and,  with- 
out doubt,  much  of  the  disinterestedness,  the  patience, 
and  the  intrepidity  of  the  apostles,  after  the  ascension 
of  their  master,  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  lessons,  with 
w  hich  he  had  fortified  their  minds,  while  he  remained 
with  them  on  earth. 

Now,  my  christian  friends,  when  we  observe,  how 
essential  it  was  then  made  to  the  character  of  a  chris- 
tian, that  he  should  possess  a  spirit,  which  could  sus- 
tain indignities,  support  disgrace,  relinquish  comfort, 
endure  torture,  and  triumph  over  death  ;  when  we 
see,  how  frequently  our  Saviour  insisted  on  indepen- 
dence and  magnanimity  in  his  followers,  and  studi- 
ously instructed  and  disciplined  their  minds  for  the 
extraordinary  sufferings,  which  awaited  them,  it  is 
surely  worthy  of  consideration,  whether  we  have,  in 
any  sense,  exercised  a  spirit,  similar  to  that  which 
animated  the  primitive  disciples.  It  is  surely  of 
some  consequence  to  inquire,  in  what  manner  we, 
who  repose  in  religious  security,  we,  whom  no  perse- 
cutions assail,  no  difficulties  molest,  and  no  terrours 
alarm,  may  now  exhibit  something  of  the  undaunted- 
ness  of  proselytes,  something  of  the  patience  of  the 
saints.  Surely,  the  path  of  christian  profession,  which 
was  once  spread  with  thorns,  is  not  now  covered 
only  with  flowers.  Surely,  the  descendants  of  those 
men,  who  once  made  the  most  magnanimous  surren 
der  of  comfort  and  of  life,  cannot  follow  the  same 
master  to  heaven,  without  meeting  an  impediment, 
and  without  making  a  sacrifice.     To  confess  Christ 


213 


now  before  men,  cannot  be  utterly  dissimilar  to  the 
confession  of  Christ  in  the  age  of  the  apostles.  Let 
us  endeavour,  then,  to  ascertain,  how  we  may  now 
confess  Christ  before  men,  so  that  he  may  confess  us 
hereafter  before  his  Father,  who  is  in  heaven. 

L  He,  who  now  confesses  Christ  before  men,  must 
not  be  unwilling  to  avow  the  sentiments,  which  he  en- 
tertains of  his  character.  To  believe  in  Christ,  is  not 
simply  to  believe,  that  such  a  person  once  existed. 
This  you  may  believe  of  Julius  Caesar,  or  of  Pilate. 
Neither  is  it  enough  to  talk  of  him  as  a  good  man,  or 
a  wise  teacher,  to  praise  his  example,  to  descant 
upon  his  precepts,  to  admire  his  sufferings,  and 
to  declaim  about  the  excellence  of  his  character. 
In  this  way,  as  every  moralist  flourishes  about 
Socrates,  every  skeptick  may  harangue  about  Christ. 
To  confess  Jesus,  is  to  confess  him  in  the  charac- 
ter, which  you  believe  he  supported,  and  in  the  au- 
thority, which  you  believe  he  claimed.  It  is  to  ac- 
knowledge him,  as  the  Son  of  Grod,  the  image  of  Dei- 
ty, the  representative  of  the  Father's  authority,  the 
constituted  teacher,  legislator,  redeemer,  and  judge  of 
the  world.  In  Jesus  of  Nazareth  were  exhibited, 
in  an  unparalled  degree,  the  powers  and  charac- 
ters of  Jehovah.  "  This  is  my  beloved  Son,"  was 
the  attestation  of  heaven,  "  in  whom  I  am  well  pleas- 
ed :  hear  ye  him."  "  Whom,"  says  our  Saviour  to 
the  apostles,  "  whom  do  men  say  that  I  am  ?"  "  And 
they  answered,  some  say,  John  the  Baptist ;  others 
say,  Elias  \  others,  Jeremias,  or  that  one  of  the  old 


214 

prophets  is  risen  again."  "  But,"  continues  our  Sa- 
viour, "  whom  say  ye  that  I  am  ?"  "  Peter  answered, 
thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God."  You, 
then,  who  profess  to  adopt  the  name  of  christians,  re- 
collect, that  the  relation,  in  which  you  stand  to  Christ, 
is  unlike  any  other,  into  which  you  can  enter.  His 
doctrines,  where  you  have  clearly  discovered  them, 
are  not  controvertible,  like  the  tenets  of  a  philosopher  ; 
nor  are  his  recommendations  to  be  discussed,  as  if  they 
were  the  counsels  of  a  fallible  adviser.  If  you  are 
satisfied,  that  his  authority  is  divine,  your  opinions  are 
to  be  submitted  to  his  instructions  ;  if  you  have  taken 
his  hand,  you  must  suffer  yourselves  to  be  led  by  his 
wisdom.  You  believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  Jesus. 
From  the  authority  of  men,  it  is  lawful  to  appeal  to 
that  of  God  ;  from  the  authority  of  Christ  there  is  no 
appeal,  for  whoever  receiveth  him,  receiveth  God 
that  sent  him. 

2.  To  confess  Christ  before  men,  it  is  not  enough, 
that  we  are  willing  to  avow  our  implicit  belief  in  his 
authority ;  we  must,  secondly,  discover  in  our  lives, 
that  we  are  not  ashamed  of  any  peculiar  restraints, 
sacrifices,  privations,  or  labours,  which  this  confes- 
sion imposes.  We  profess  to  take  Jesus  of  Naz- 
areth for  our  guide  to  everlasting  life.  It  is  natural* 
ly  expected  of  disciples,  that  they  exhibit  a  charac- 
ter, like  that  of  their  master.  Ye  call  me  master 
and  Lord,  says  our  Saviour ;  and  ye  say  well,  for 
so  I  am.  If  I,  then,  your  Lord  and  master,  have 
given  you  an  example,  ye  should  do  as  I  have  done 


215 


to  you.  Who  would  expect  to  find  the  followers  of 
Diogenes,  the  cynick,  clothed  in  purple,  sleeping 
upon  down,  or  rioting  in  luxury  ;  or  the  disciples  of 
Epicurus,  walking  barefoot,  practising  abstemious- 
ness, or  living  in  superstitious  or  habitual  devotion  ? 
Allow  me,  then,  to  say,  that  you  do  not  confess  Christ 
before  men,  if  you  lay  no  restraints  upon  your  de- 
sires, out  of  deference  to  his  laws,  if  you  abridge  none 
of  your  indulgences,  in  conformity  to  the  spirit  of 
his  religion.  It  is  in  vain  for  you  to  profess  your 
belief  in  the  gospel  of  Christ,  if,  whenever  the  spirit 
of  Christianity  and  the  spirit  of  the  times  interfere, 
you  manifestly  bow  to  the  opinion  of  the  world. 
Does  that  man  confess  Christ  before  the  world,  who 
lives  precisely  as  he  might  have  done,  if  Jesus  had 
never  been  born,  never  established  a  religion,  never 
suffered  upon  the  cross,  and  were  never  again  to  ap- 
pear, as  the  final  judge  of  character,  and  dispenser 
of  retribution?  Does  he  confess  Christ  before  men, 
whose  life  exhibits  nothing,  which  would  lead  an  ob- 
server to  conclude,  that  he  acknowledged  any  other 
master  than  his  inclination,  and  any  authority  but 
that  of  publick  opinion  ?  If  you  are  afraid  of  being 
called  superstitious,  because  you  practise  the  offices 
of  devotion,  pusillanimous,  because  you  endeavour 
to  be  meek  and  forgiving,  morose,  because  you  do 
not  plunge  headlong  into  the  amusements  of  the  age, 
avaricious,  because  you  are  not  clothed  in  purple, 
and  do  not  fare  sumptuously  every  day,  or  rigid,  be- 
cause you  are  not  willing  to  be  dissolute ;  with  all 


216 


these  fears,  and  hesitations,  and  accommodations,  it 
is  absurd  for  you  to  bear  about  the  idle  appellation 
of  a  believer  in  the  gospel.    Reject  the  profession  of 
your  faith  at  once,  and  avoid  these  unworthy  incon- 
sistencies.    What  should  we  have  thought  of  the 
sincerity  of  PauFs   conversion  to  Christianity,  if, 
while  he  resided  at  the  polished  metropolis  of  Greece, 
and  called  himself  a  christian,  he  had  been  seen 
bowing  down  in  the  streets  to  the  statue  of  Jupiter, 
or  complaisantly  accommodating  his  creed  to  the 
skeptical  Epicureans,  whenever  he  found  himself  in 
their  company,  or  joining  in  a  laugh  against  his  Lord 
and  master,  with  some  of  the  witty  inhabitants  of 
Athens  ?  What,  if  we  had  been  told,  that  he  eager- 
ly sought  admittance  to  every  festival  and  show  in 
honour  of  their  gods,  and  placed  himself  at  meat  at 
every  idoFs  table  ?  What,  if  he  had  been  seen  join- 
ing in  the  lewd  dances  of  the  Bacchanalia,  hurrying 
to  the  Olympick  games,  or  seeking  for  amusement 
with  the  profligate  youth  of  the  city  ?  What,  if  he 
had  spent  all  his  time  in  asking  after  news,  with 
the  idle  and  inquisitive  strollers  in  the  forum ;  and 
when  that  insolent  citizen  inquired,  What  will  this 
babbler  say,  what  if  Paul  had  resented  his  imperti- 
nence, like  a  man  of  spirit,  and,  to  save  his  wounded 
honour,  had  manfully  gone  out  to  single  combat?  If 
such  had  been  his  course  of  life,  think  you,  he  could 
have  made  that  defence  before  the  Areopagus,  which 
the  historian  has  recorded  ?  Alas,  my  friends,  the 
name  of  christian  has  come  to  us  by  birth,  and  by 


217 

inheritance  ;  but  not  so  descend  the  spirit  and  the 
power  of  our  religion. 

3.  To  confess  Christ  before  men,  is,  thirdly,  to 
adopt  those  methods,  and  embrace  those  opportuni- 
ties of  acknowledging  him,  which  the  present  state  of 
his  religion  renders  practicable  and  proper.  The 
only  open  and  formal  manner  of  professing  ourselves 
christians,  which  is,  at  the  present  day,  at  once  unos- 
tentatious and  publick,  is,  by  observing  those  rites, 
which  are  peculiar  to  Christianity — baptism  and  the 
Lord's  supper.  It  is  not  enough  to  denominate  us 
christians,  that  we  publickly  assemble  with  christians 
in  houses  of  worship.  The  doors  of  our  sanctuaries 
are  open  to  the  infidel,  as  well  as  to  the  believer ; 
to  the  Jew,  and  to  the  Pagan ;  to  the  Mahometan 
from  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  to  the  sav- 
age from  the  banks  of  the  Missouri.  Attendance 
upon  the  weekly  exercises  of  the  temple  affords  no 
unquestionable  proof  of  our  belief  in  Christianity, 
and  no  distinguishing  pledge  of  our  attachment  to  its 
cause.  You,  who  now  fill  these  seats,  do  not  in- 
tend, by  your  presence  here,  to  declare  to  the  world, 
that  you  are  christians. 

It  is,  however,  to  be  presumed,  that  those,  who, 
either  for  themselves  or  for  their  children,  have  re- 
cognized the  ordinance  of  baptism,  are  sensible,  that 
by  this  act  they  voluntarily  submit  to  a  rite,  which  is, 
in  fact,  initiatory  to  the  profession  of  Christianity. 
They  acknowledge  the  authority  of  Christ,  they  en- 
rol themselves  in  the  number  of  his  pupils.  They 
28 


218 

virtually  admit,  that  all  liis  requirements  are  obliga- 
tory ;  and  declare  to  the  world,  that  they  are  willing 
to  submit  to  his  commands,  as  far  as  they  are  dis- 
covered. Can  any  one,  then,  satisfactorily  inform  us, 
why  the  other  rite,  which  is  peculiarly  significant  of 
our  discipleship,  and  especially  expressive  of  fideli- 
ty and  attachment,  is  so  generally  neglected  ?  Have 
you  ever  seriously  considered,  that  the  latter  is  a  nat- 
ural consequence  of  the  former,  if  the  former  was  not 
hypocritically  observed ;  and  that,  in  the  earliest 
ages  of  the  church,  the  observance  of  each  of  the  or- 
dinances was  inseparably  connected  ?  Have  you  ever 
considered,  that,  by  studiously  regarding  the  one, 
and  inconsiderately  neglecting  the  other,  you  exhibit 
an  inexplicable  inconsistency  in  your  professions  of 
attachment  ? 

Bear  with  me,  my  friends,  while  I  indulge  myself 
in  freely  examining  some  of  the  motives,  which,  pro- 
bably, restrain  you.  Difficulties,  as  well  as  fears, 
sometimes  vanish  on  a  near  inspection  ;  and  to  dis- 
entangle what  is  perplexed,  close  and  careful  ob- 
servation is  commonly  more  necessary,  than  either 
resolution  or  strength. 

1.  Allow  me,  however,  in  the  first  place,  to  doubt, 
whether  you  have  yet  seriously  considered,  or  sensi- 
bly understood  the  obligation,  which  your  belief  in 
the  authority  of  Jesus  so  clearly  imposes.  Perhaps 
you  have  regarded  as  mere  words  of  course  the  invi- 
tations, which  are  repeatedly  addressed  to  you  from 
the  pulpit,  and  addressed  to  your  gratitude  and  love^ 


219 

as  well  as  to  your  sense  of  duty.     Have  you  not  too 
easily  contented  yourselves  hitherto  with  your  week- 
ly attendance  on  the  customary  services  of  the  sanc- 
tuary;  services,  which  you  have  found  may  be  peri- 
odically observed  without  any  interruption  of  your 
time,  and  which  it  would  not,  perhaps,  require  more 
resolution  to  discontinue,  than  to  repeat?  Perhaps 
you  are  too  indolent,  or  too  secure  to  reflect  on  the 
duty  we  are  considering ;  or  you  imagine  yourselves 
too  busy  to  devote  a  portion  of  your  time  and  thoughts 
to  a  commemoration  of  your  Saviour's  death.  But 
the  plea  of  occupation  is  futile.   You  have  bought 
a  piece  of  ground,  and  you  must  needs  go  and  see  it. 
And  what  of  this  ?  Is  every  project  and  business  to 
be  accomplished,  before  you  can  have  leisure  to  listen 
to  the  recommendations  of  such  a  friend  as  Jesus  ? 
You  have  bought  five  yoke  of  oxen,  and  you  must  go 
to  prove  them.    Cannot  this  be  effected  without  re- 
jecting the  invitations  of  the  gospel  ?  And  you  have 
married  a  wife,  and  therefore  you  cannot  come.  But 
why  can  you  not  bring  with  you  to  the  table,  your 
consort,  your  children,  your  dependants  ?  The  tables 
of  the  Lord  are  not  yet  crowded.  Here  are  no  strug- 
gles for  admittance  $  here  are  no  contests  for  accom- 
modation. 

2.  Give  me  leave  to  ask  you,  how  long  you  have 
been  deferring  your  attention  to  this  duty,  and  how 
much  longer  you  imagine  you  shall  be  employed  in 
collecting  resolution  ?  Nothing  is  more  certainly  ne- 
glected^ than  what  we  are  always  intending  to  do. 


220 

When  will  that  more  convenient  time  arrive  ?  Is  that 
bright  hour,  which  is  to  bring  you  opportunity,  incli- 
nation, or  resolution,  now  on  its  passage  ?  Ah,  my 
friends,  I  know  of  no  moment  but  the  present.  I 
have  known  opportunities,  but  they  are  past,  and  I 
strive  in  vain  to  recall  them.  The  virgins,  who  slept, 
imagined,  that  they  should  have  sufficient  time  to  go 
and  buy  oil  and  trim  their  lamps ;  but,  while  they 
were  gone,  those  who  were  ready  went  in  to  the  nup- 
tial feast,  and  when  their  companions  returned,  the 
door  was  shut. 

3.  Perhaps  you  excuse  yourselves,  on  account  of 
the  solemnity  of  the  ordinance.  But,  my  friends,  be- 
cause it  is  solemn,  is  it  therefore  the  less  important  ? 
Because  it  is  solemn,  may  it  therefore  be  more  se- 
curely neglected  ?  Besides,  what  has  taught  you  to 
make  so  great  a  distinction  between  this  and  the 
other  duties  of  religion  ?  Surely  not  the  example  of 
our  Saviour.  In  his  presence  was  the  rite  instituted, 
and  then  it  was  affectionate,  social  and  cheerful. 
No  terrours  were  thrown  around  the  meeting,  no 
doubts  disturbed  the  happy  fraternity,  no  mystery 
brooded  over  the  eucharistical  feast.  Surely,  your's 
was  not  the  sentiment  of  the  primitive  disciples,  for 
they  celebrated  this  ordinance  at  every  opportunity, 
and  whenever  they  found  themselves  together.  Sure- 
ly, your's  was  not  the  opinion  of  the  Corinthian  con- 
verts, for  so  little  were  they  appalled  with  the  aw- 
ful solemnity  of  the  rite,  that  they  soon  converted  it 
into  a  riotous  festival.    Surely,  your's  was  not  the 


221 


opinion  of  the  apostle,  or  he  would  have  proceeded 
farther  in  his  reproof,  than  merely  to  have  blamed 
their  disorder  and  excess.  It  is  true,  the  ceremony 
is  serious,  and  so,  also,  is  every  act  of  homage,  be- 
cause it  is  performed  in  the  presence,  and  directed  to 
the  eye  of  Jehovah.  Nothing  can  be  more  religious- 
ly solemn  than  prayer  ;  and  there  is  nothing  in  the 
exercises  at  the  communion  more  sacred  in  reality, 
than  the  customary  addresses  to  the  throne  of  God. 

4.  You  excuse  yourselves,  perhaps,  because  you 
imagine  you  are  not  yet  prepared  for  an  ordinance  so 
holy.  This,  1  know,  is  the  most  customary,  and,  let 
me  add,  the  most  fallacious  apology.  If  you  are  unpre- 
pared for  this,  believe  me,  you  are  unprepared  for  the 
worship  of  the  sanctuary,  in  which  we  have  now  been 
uniting ;  you  are  unprepared  to  enter  your  closet,  and 
offer  up  your  secret  devotions ;  you  are  unprepared 
to  present  your  children  at  the  baptismal  font ;  and, 
what  is  more  than  all,  you  are  unprepared  to  leave 
this  busy  world,  and  enter  on  those  unknown  scenes, 
which,  even  while  you  are  hesitating,  may  burst  upon 
your  vision.  Can  you,  in  such  a  state  of  things,  say 
carelessly  and  coolly,  that  you  are  unfit  to  come  to  the 
communion,  especially  when  the  ordinance  is  per- 
petuated for  the  very  purpose  of  promoting  your  spir- 
itual preparation  for  the  communion  of  Jesus  and  the 
saints  in  heaven  ? 

But  where  do  you  gather  the  opinion,  that  a  precise 
degree  of  preparation,  which  1  know  not  how  you  are 
to  ascertain,  is  necessary  to  the  communicant  ?  You 


surely  do  not  collect  it  from  the  circumstances,  in 
which  the  supper  was  instituted.  To  the  twelve  dis- 
ciples, who  were  the  first  communicants,  the  ceremony- 
was  utterly  unexpected.  It  was  suddenly  instituted 
in  the  midst  of  a  common  meal ;  and  the  apostles  had 
no  time  to  deliberate  about  those  necessary  qualifica- 
tions, on  which  succeeding  ages  have  so  unadvisedly 
and  unhappily  insisted.  If  our  dispositions  and  hab- 
its are  such,  as  to  disqualify  us  to  join  with  mortals, 
like  ourselves,  in  commemorating  the  death  of  our 
common  benefactor,  alarming  indeed  is  our  condition. 
My  friends,  it  is  time  to  pause  :  it  is  time  to  look 
about  us.  If  we  cannot,  without  guilt  or  hypocrisy, 
celebrate  the  memory  of  Jesus,  when  departed,  think 
you  that  such  disaffection  will  be  admitted  to  his 
presence  ? 

Perhaps  you  flatter  yourselves,  that  there  is  less 
danger  in  utterly  neglecting  this  duty,  than  in  under- 
taking to  perform  it,  without  having  ascertained  the 
worthiness  of  your  preparation.  But,  my  friends,  the 
obligation  of  the  duty  is  certain  ;  the  degree  of  pre- 
paration is  not.  If  your  intention  to  perform  the  will 
of  your  master  is  sincere,  you  are  not  to  delay,  till 
every  difficulty  vanishes,  and  every  scruple  is  satis- 
fied, especially  in  a  case  like  this,  where,  if  you 
leave  the  words  of  scripture,  your  only  criterion  will 
be  some  inexplicable  and,  perhaps,  delusive  feeling, 
which  may  come  and  depart  in  a  day.  If  you  have 
no  serious  desire  and  no  real  intention  to  conform  to 
this  request,  it  is  idle  to  talk  about  degrees  of  prepa- 


223 


ration.  This  state  of  your  inclinations  is  your  sin, 
and  not  your  excuse. 

Lastly,  I  am  disposed  to  believe,  that  many  ab- 
stain from  the  communion,  from  a  suspicion,  that  it 
will  impose  upon  them  some  new  obligations,  which 
they  fear  they  shall  be  unable  to  fulfil.  This  excuse 
sometimes  results  from  a  tenderness  of  conscience, 
which  deserves  to  be  fortified  and  enlightened,  rather 
than  indulged.  If  you  believe  in  the  authority  of 
Christ,  and  profess,  though  not  formally  and  publick- 
ly,  to  receive  his  religion,  your  obligations  continue 
the  same,  whether  you  come  to  the  communion,  or 
whether  you  forbear.  The  mere  commemoration  of 
the  death  of  Christ,  cannot  impose  any  new  duties, 
or  alter  the  extent  of  christian  obligations.  The  ob- 
servance of  one  command  can  neither  enlarge,  nor 
contract  the  circle  of  the  others.  It  is  true,  in  con- 
sequence of  an  open  profession,  the  eyes  of  the  world 
will  be  turned  more  directly  upon  you ;  and,  together 
with  the  necessity  of  greater  circumspection,  you  will 
feel,  also,  the  influence  of  new  motives  and  aids  to 
obedience.  But,  as  you  cannot  be  too  holy,  why 
should  you  shun  an  additional  inducement  to  purity 
and  watchfulness.  The  bonds,  which  bind  you  to 
your  religion,  cannot  be  too  numerous,  or  too  strong ; 
and  it  becomes  you  seriously  to  consider,  whether 
you  do  not  more  essentially  injure  the  interests  of  the 
'  gospel  by  openly  neglecting  one  of  its  positive  com- 
mands, than  you  would  by  making  a  profession,  w  hich 
you  might,  sometimes,  indeed,  be  tempted  to  dishon- 


nm 

our,  but  which  God  may  give  you  the  grace  to  adorn. 
This  timidity  is  at  least  a  weakness  ;  be  careful,  that 
it  does  not  grow  into  a  crime. 

The  time  will  not  permit  us  to  proceed  further. 
These  are  only  hints,  which  might  be  copiously  il- 
lustrated, and  thrown  into  a  more  argumentative  form. 

May  God  grant,  that  we,  who,  from  a  sense  of  ob- 
ligation, I  hope,  assemble  round  this  table,  may  be 
more  and  more  constrained  by  the  love  of  Christ, 
since  he  died  for  all,  that  they  which  live  should 
henceforth  not  live  unto  themselves,  but  unto  him, 
who  died  for  them,  and  rose  again. 


SERMON  XIV. 


LUKE  viii.  18. 

TAKE   HEED   HOW   YE  HEAR. 

IT  appears,  at  first  view,  astonishing,  that  so  lit- 
tle effect  should  be  perceptibly  produced  in  society 
by  a  long  established  system  of  publick  instruction  on 
topicks  the  most  important  to  mankind.  It  would 
seem  incredible  to  one,  who,  for  the  first  time,  was 
made  acquainted  with  our  institutions  of  religion, 
that  such  a  provision  for  weekly  worship,  teaching, 
admonition  and  consolation,  should  long  exist  without 
a  more  sensible  and  eminent  effect  on  the  minds  and 
manners  of  the  community.  He  would  conclude^ 
that,  without  some  serious  incompetency  in  the  teach- 
er, or  blame  in  his  audience,  the  facts  and  precepts 
contained  in  the  gospel,  which  relate  to  the  everlast- 
ing well-being  of  mankind,  could  not  be  heard  without 
greater  effect.  That  the  inefficiency  of  publick  in. 
struction  is,  in  some  degree,  to  be  attributed  to  the 
incompetency,  infirmities,  or  mistakes  of  preachers,  I 
am  not  disposed  to  deny.  Let  us  take  it  for  granted 
29 


226 

in  the  outset,  for  to  discuss  it  at  length,  would  be  un- 
profitable to  you,  and  false  humility  in  the  preacher. 

From  these  remarks,  however,  let  it  not  be  infer- 
red, that  we  are  disposed  to  deny  the  utility  of 
preaching.  There  is,  undoubtedly,  a  secret  and  per- 
manent influence  flowing  from  our  publick  institutions 
of  religion,  which  can  be  thoroughly  understood  and 
fairly  estimated  only  if  God,  in  his  displeasure, 
should  call  us  to  witness  the  consequences  of  the 
complete  abolition  of  them. 

The  efficacy  of  preaching  appears  more  inconsid- 
erable, than  it  really  is,  from  this  circumstance,  that,  of 
those  who  regularly  attend  upon  it,  few  are  guilty  of 
habitual  enormities  and  open  vices.  The  sins,  against 
which  we  find  it  most  necessary  to  preach,  are  those 
hidden  biasses  of  the  heart,  that  worldly  spirit,  that 
habitual  selfishness,  and  that  religious  torpor,  which 
are  not,  if  I  may  so  speak,  limbs,  which  may  be  cut 
oil*,  but  slow  diseases,  which  are  to  be  cured,  and  cured 
not  by  a  single  application,  but  by  a  long  course  of 
moral  regimen  and  exercise.  Hence,  to  pursue  the  allu- 
sion, the  influence  of  the  christian  ministry  is  not  to 
be  seen  in  the  leaping  of  the  lame,  the  recovery  of 
sight  to  the  blind,  the  raising  of  the  dead,  or  in  the 
conversion  of  thousands  from  one  religion  and  course 
of  life  to  another,  as  in  a  day  of  Pentecost ;  but  rather 
in  strengthening  the  weak  organs,  in  guarding  the 
careless  against  infection,  and  in  gradually  improv- 
ing, as  far  as  may  be,  the  tone  of  the  religious  sys- 
tem, and  the  health  of  the  religious  community. 


227 

These  general  remarks  may  serve  to  show,  that 
publick  instruction  among  us  is  not  so  inefficacious 
as  it  might  at  first  appear  to  be,  and  that,  if  no 
other  good  effects  could  be  stated  to  flow  from  it,  yet 
the  evil  secretly  prevented,  and  the  melioration  se- 
cretly induced,  are  more  than  a  recompense  for  the 
labours  of  those,  who  are  engaged  in  supporting  these 
institutions.  The  object  of  the  present  discourse, 
however,  is  not  so  much  to  account  for  the  inadequate 
effects  of  preaching  on  the  great  mass  of  mankind,  as  to 
lead  the  attention  of  those,  who  are  habitually  hearers 
of  the  word,  and  profess  a  respect  for  religion  and  its 
institutions,  to  consider  some  important  prevalent  er- 
rours,  prejudices,  and  sins,  which  impede,  and  often 
destroy,  the  beneficial  influence  of  religion  on  their 
hearts  and  minds. 

1.  You  will  agree  with  me,  no  doubt,  in  the  first 
place,  that,  till  the  attention  is  gained,  the  labours  of 
the  preacher  arc  vain.  Some  of  the  impediments  to 
this  attention  and  confidence  are  to  be  found  in  the 
prejudices,  in  which  we  allow  ourselves  toward  indi- 
viduals. We  will  hardly  consent  to  learn  our  duty, 
except  from  a  particular  mouth.  We  suspect  one 
man  of  heresy  ;  and,  of  course,  all  that  he  delivers  has 
a  tinge  of  this  leprosy,  aad  therefore  effectually  pre- 
vents all  contact  with  our  mind.  Another  is  avoided 
as  too  damnatory,  or  too  metaphysical,  too  clamourous, 
or  too  severe.  We  suffer  ourselves  to  waver  with 
popular  changes  5  to  lose  our  confidence  in  one  fa- 


vourite,  when  he  is  no  longer  the  first ;  or  to  turn 
away  from  another,  because  we  are  familiar  with  his 
manner,  and  he  no  longer  offers  novelties. 

When  we  first  inquire  into  the  reputation  of  a 
preacher,  or  measure  the  precise  limits  of  his  creed, 
before  we  venture  to  trust  ourselves  with  him,  or 
when  we  come  with  minds  prepared  to  hear  with  cap- 
tiousness,  or  not  to  hear  through  aversion,  it  is  not 
wonderful,  that  so  much  of  the  natural  influence  of  in- 
struction should  be  wasted.    It  is  true,  that  prejudices 
and  partialities  are  not  to  be  avoided ;   and,  perhaps, 
when  they  are  unattended  with  correspondent  aver- 
sions, are  more  salutary  than  injurious,  on  the  whole. 
Yet,  when  we  find  that  the  preaching  of  some  men 
appears  to  us  barren  and  unfruitful,  it  is  surely  worth 
while  to  inquire,  where  the  fault  exists  ;  and  to  decide, 
which  is  most  easy,  natural,  and  just,  that  we  should 
accommodate  ourselves  to  the  preacher's  method  of 
teaching,  or  that  the  preacher  should  be  expected  to 
suit  the  peculiar  tastes  and  previous  notions  and  ca- 
pacities of  hundreds  of  minds. 

The  different  reception  of  the  same  preachers,  in 
different  assemblies,  is  finely  illustrated  in  the  history 
of  Paul.  Upon  his  arrival  at  Athens,  the  Epicu- 
reans and  Stoicks  were  all  prepared  to  expose  the 
new  apostle  to  derision,  and  went  round  inquiring, 
what  will  this  babbler  say  ?  At  Lystra,  on  the  contra- 
ry, the  city  was  all  enthusiasm  and  admiration ;  the 
gods,  say  they,  have  come  down  to  us  in  the  likeness 
of  men.    The  sentiment  of  the  apostle,  in  his  reply, 


289 


is  admirable.  Wc  arc  men  of  like  passions  with 
you  ;  but  we  are  also  ministers  of  the  most  High  God, 
who  show  unto  you  the  way  of  salvation,  and  our 
duty  and  your's  is  equally  simple,  and  serious,  inde- 
pendent of  the  passions  and  partialities  of  men. 

S.  The  effect  of  preaching  depends  much,  in  the 
second  place,  on  the  disposition,  which  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  bringing  with  us  to  publick  w  orship.  For 
what  purpose^  my  friends,  are  you  assembled  here  ? 
Not  surely  to  set  an  example  to  others.   If  this  were 
the  only  reason  of  your  meeting,  for  what  purpose, 
let  me  ask,  are  those  others  assembled?  There  must 
be  some  ground  for  this  custom,  beside  example,  oth- 
erwise those,  whose  example  is  of  no  value,  would 
have  no  reason  to  assign  for  their  w  orship.    No,  my 
friends,  I  trust,  that  every  one  is  sensible,  that  the 
same  God,  w  ho  made,  and  preserves,  and  governs  us 
all,  demands  of  you  the  same  homage,  which  he  de- 
mands of  others  5  and  that  what  you  receive  in  common 
deserves  to  be  acknowledged  in  common.    Your  obli- 
gations are  not  altered,  except  as  they  are  increased, 
by  the  difference  of  your  circumstances,  or  your  inu 
provements.  The  instructions  here  given  are  not  nice- 
ly adjusted  to  any  particular  stations  or  characters,  but 
are  of  consecpience  to  us  all  as  moral,  accountable  and 
immortal  creatures.    They  relate  to  the  awful  and  pa- 
rental character  of  that  great  Being,  in  whose  power  is 
the  disposal  of  our  whole  existence,  whether  in  this 
w  orld  or  the  next ;  they  relate  to  the  pardon  of  sin,  in 
which,  as  offenders,  we  are  all  interested  \  they  relate  to 


that  unexplored  world,  whither  we  are  all  tending,  a 
world,  which  may  burst  upon  us  in  a  moment,  whether 
we  have  made  any  provision  for  its  scenes  or  not. 
The  mind,  which  is  not  previously  composed  to  the 
duties  of  this  place,  cannot  easily  engage  in  the  ex- 
ercises of  the  sanctuary.  Those,  who  do  not  come  to 
pay  a  solemn  homage,  canuot  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
the  service,  or  bring  away  any  thing  of  value.  It 
may  be,  that  their  curiosity  is  appeased ;  but  *their 
hearts  are  unaffected.  It  may  be,  that  their  attention 
is  supported  for  the  time  ;  but  every  thing  is  forgotten, 
when  the  service  is  closed.  It  may  be,  that  their 
conscience  is  discharged  of  a  burden  ;  but  they  are 
relieved  rather  than  improved.  It  may  be,  that  they 
do  not  always,  or  often,  regret  the  time,  which  they 
have  spent ;  but  they  look  not  hack  upon  it  with  the 
satisfaction,  which  those  will  always  feel,  who,  con- 
scious of  the  privilege  and  means  they  have  enjoyed, 
have  learned  something  more  of  God,  or  of  them- 
selves, of  their  duty,  or  their  destination. 

3.  In  the  third  place,  much  of  the  inefficacy  of 
preaching  is  to  be  traced  to  that  ignorance  and  de- 
fect of  preliminary  knowledge,  which  exist  among 
many  of  our  hearers,  who  yet  would  be  unwilling  to 
be  denied  the  name  of  christians. 

It  is  natural  for  the  preacher  to  forget,  that  those, 
whom  he  addresses,  are  not  so  familiar  as  himself 
with  the  truths  which  he  declares,  with  the  arguments 
which  he  adduces,  with  the  allusions  which  he  makes, 
or  the  scriptures,  on  which  he  founds  his  discourses. 


221 


Hence,  what  appears  familiar  and  intelligible  to  him, 
is  abstruse  to  his  auditors.  When  he  imagines,  that  he 
has  completed  a  fair  demonstration  of  some  religious 
truths,  he  may  find  his  labour  lost,  and  his  deductions 
unintelligible.  It  happens,  that  some  link  in  the  chain 
of  thought,  which  existed  in  his  own  mind,  and  ren- 
dered all  its  parts  so  mutually  dependent  and  firmly 
supported,  is  entirely  unknown  to  his  hearers  ;  and  his 
discourse  leaves  a  very  indistinct  impression.    It  may 
be,  that  lie  has  raised  an  animated  exhortation  from 
some  great  truths,  which  he  supposed  every  one  allow- 
ed, and  to  which  he  concluded  no  one  was  a  stranger ; 
and  yet  be  miserably  disappointed  to  find,  that,  in 
consequence  of  the  distance  between  his  own  mind  and 
the  minds  of  his  hearers,  all  that  he  has  said  is  like 
water,  which,  instead  of  having  reached  the  ground, 
is  evaporated  in  the  air,  and  by  which  no  soil  is  ferti- 
lized, no  growth  of  goodness  quickened.   You  reply, 
perhaps,  that  this  is  the  fault  of  the  preacher  ;  you  will 
say,  that  he  ought  not  to  assume  premises,  which  he 
has  not  proved,  or  presuppose  information,  which  he 
has  not  given,  or  scatter  his  seeds  in  ground,  which  he 
has  never  cleared.    But,  my  friends,  is  it  impertinent 
to  ask,  are  you  to  depend  for  all  your  religious  knowl- 
edge on  the  occasional,  and  unsystematical  addresses 
of  your  ministers?  With  the  scriptures  in  your  hands, 
with  so  many  volumes  of  religious  and  moral  instruc- 
tion within  your  reach,  on  subjects,  in  which  you  are 
surely  not  less  interested  than  ourselves,  are  we  to 
presume,  that  you  are  yet  unfurnished  with  the  rudi- 


mcnts  of  Christianity  ?  At  this  age  of  the  world,  when, 
as  the  apostle  says,  you  ought  to  be  teachers,  must 
you  be  taught  the  iirst  principles  of  the  oracles  of 
God?  And,  at  this  period,  are  you  such  as  have  need 
of  milk,  and  not  of  strong  meat?  He,  that  would  at- 
tend a  course  of  lectures  on  any  branch  of  education, 
or  topick  of  literature,  takes  care  to  prepare  himself 
with  previous  principles.  Are  we  alone  to  be  forever 
laying  the  foundation  of  repentance  from  dead  works 
and  faith  in  God,  explaining  rudiments,  and  begin- 
ning at  the  very  cradle  of  theology  ;  or  have  we  not 
rather  a  right  to  demand  of  you,  as  preliminaries,  a 
rational  belief  of  revelation,  and  a  considerable  fa- 
miliarity with  its  records  ? 

4.  A  fourth  cause  of  the  inconsiderable  effect  of 
preaching,  is  the  want  of  reflection  upon  what  we  hear. 
Discourses,  even  among  those,  who  have  no  doubt  of 
the  main  truths  of  their  religion,  are  too  often  heard 
as  if  they  were  insulated  and  complete  performances, 
intended  to  answer  no  purpose  beyond   the  infor- 
mation given  at  the  moment.     We  go  to  be  enter- 
tained at  our  ease.  If  the  speaker  fails  to  effect  this 
grand  object,  we  consider  ourselves  disappointed,  and 
return  vacant  and  uninterested  to  the  occupations  of 
life.     Thus,  many  of  these  holy  days  truly  pass 
away,  like  a  tale  that  is  told  ;  or,  if  the  success  of  the 
preacher  is  more,  we  still  charge  not  our  memories 
w  ith  the  subject,  and  conceive,  that  our  interest  in  it 
is  at  an  end,  when  the  discourse  is  concluded.  But, 
my  hearers,  does  the  object  of  preaching  terminate 


233 


like  that  of  a  drama,  in  the  pleasure  afforded  at  the 
moment  ?  It  is  not  intended  as  a  relaxation  of  an 
hour,  in  which  curiosity  is  to  be  kept  alive,  and  which 
leaves  no  practical  impression.    The  real  purpose  of 
a  discourse  cannot  be  answered  without  your  coope- 
ration.   The  practical  improvement  is  to  be  made  in 
your  chambers,  in  your  families,  and  in  your  private 
meditations.    Called  upon,  as  we  are,  from  week  to 
week,  to  produce  something,  which  shall  arrest  atten- 
tion, miserable  indeed  would  be  our  condition,  if  we 
were  regarded  merely  as  the  purveyors  for  the  appetites 
of  the  publick.    We  can  treat  few  subjects  profound- 
ly ;  fewer  still,  systematically.  We  can  only  give  you 
hints,  which  you  must  pursue  at  your  leisure  ;  and 
open  to  you  principles,  which  you  must  follow  through 
their  consequences.     It  is  to  no  purpose,  that  we 
awaken  a  transitory  attention  on  this  day,  if  it  de- 
clines, as  the  sun  goes  down.    It  is  to  no  purpose  to 
insist  upon  truths,  if  you  receive  them  only  upon  our 
authority,  or  if  men  content  themselves  with  an  assent 
without  reason,  or  with  a  captious  rejection  without 
investigation.     Till  our  principles  are  made  your's 
by  inquiry,  by  meditation,  and  by  a  serious  applica- 
tion of  them  to  the  conduct  of  life,  we  shall  always 
be  accused  of  looseness  in  our  reasonings,  of  inconse- 
quence in  our  reflections,  of  presumption  in  our  lan- 
guage, of  abstruseness  or  excessive  refinement  in  our 
speculations,  of  ignorance  of  human  nature,  and  of 
want  of  adaptation  to  the  circumstances  of  society. 
The  scriptures  will  continue  to  be  regarded  rather  as 
30 


234 


furnishing  us  with  a  text,  than  as  the  very  ground 
and  matter  of  instruction ;  and  men  will  revolt  at  a 
thousand  incongruities,  absurdities,  and  strange  modes 
of  speech  in  our  discourses  from  these  holy  records, 
which,  if  they  were  properly  studied  and  understood, 
would  appear  to  be  far  beyond  the  burlesque  of  the 
witling,  and  the  ignorant  derision  of  the  man  of 
pleasure. 

In  the  last  place,  as  the  ineffieacy  of  doctrinal  in- 
struction results  from  want  of  reflection  on  what  we 
hear,  so  the  effect  of  practical  discourses  is  lost,  un- 
less every  hearer  makes  a  personal  application  of 
them  to  the  correction  of  his  own  heart,  and  the  re- 
gulation of  his  own  conduct.  The  spirit  of  God  will 
not  force  persuasion  or  conviction  on  the  mind,  which 
shuts  itself  up  against  the  truth.  There  is  no  mirac- 
ulous efficacy  accompanying  the  words  of  any  preach- 
er, which  will  convert  an  auditor  against  his  choice. 
Without  the  exercise  of  our  own  thoughts,  we  may 
hear  discourses  innumerable,  and  advance  not  a  step 
nearer  heaven.  The  sick  man  is  not  to  be  healed  by 
the  perpetual  visits  of  the  physician,  or  by  the  en- 
couragements and  recommendations  of  friends.  He 
may  lie  forever  on  his  bed,  and  waste  his  life  in  fruit- 
less wishes  and  ineffectual  prayers.  Till  he  applies 
the  prescriptions,  which  are  left,  and  exercises  himself 
in  the  regimen  and  habits,  which  are  enjoined  him, 
he  may  doze  away  a  sickly  existence,  without  recov- 
ery or  strength. 


235 


It  would  be  amusing,  if  it  were  not  so  humiliating, 
to  hear  the  observations  of  some  men,  when  they  have 
just  listened  to  a  discourse  full  of  pointed  applica- 
tions.   They  complacently  imagine,  that  one  man 
must  have  felt  this  passage,  and  another  have  been 
struck  by  so  direct  a  reference.    Many  retire  expres- 
sing the  conviction,  that  such  exhortations,  as  those 
they  have  been  hearing,  cannot  fail  of  doing  good, 
and  wonder  at  the  insensibility  of  mankind,  or  at  the 
courage  of  the  preacher.    But  let  us  only  imagine, 
that  every  one  of  our  hearers  were  employed  in  mak- 
ing applications  for  the  rest,  and  what  a  curious  scene 
of  absurdity  would  be  presented  ;  and  what  a  strange 
contrivance  to  be  unprofitable  would  be  the  art  of 
preaching  !    Every  one  would  be  employed  in  show- 
ing how  another  ought  to  be  affected,  and  yet  no  one 
could  be  improved ;  for,  with  all  this  grave  concern 
for  the  good  of  others,  each  would  neglect  the  only 
being,  whom  he  has  it  always  in  his  power  to  correct. 

Though  the  addresses  from  the  pulpit  are  necessa- 
rily general,  yet  they  ought  not  to  be  heard  without 
personal  application.  The  faithful  hearer  never 
comes  up  to  the  sanctuary  to  please  himself  with 
general  declamation  against  the  ungodly.  He  is 
not  employed  in  seeking  to  evade  reproof,  nor 
does  he  take  care  always  to  allow  as  much  as  pos- 
sible to  the  license  of  the  speaker,  and  the  autho- 
rized tone  of  the  profession.  Every  description, 
which  gives  him  an  image  of  himself,  is  a  signal 
to  him  for  reflection.     Every  exhioition  of  ciiris- 


tian  perfection  is  to  liim  an  incitement  and  a  re- 
proach ;  every  picture  of  human  depravity  is  to  him 
a  suggestion  of  gratitude  for  his  own  past  preservation, 
and  an  admonition  to  take  heed,  lest  he  fall  for  the 
future. 

This  list  of  causes  might  easily  be  enlarged ;  but 
I  prefer  to  conclude  with  some  application  of  this 
precept :  take  heed  how  ye  hear. 

1.  Would  you  derive  the  greatest  improvement 
from  publick  religious  instruction,  divest  yourselves 
of  unfavourable  prejudices  against  those,  who  impart  it. 
Who,  then,  is  he  that  addresses  you,  that  you  should 
come  prepared  to  defeat  his  purpose  ?  Is  it  a  self-com- 
placent herald  of  his  own  fame  ;  a  vain  propagator 
of  his  own  opinions  ;  a  conceited  exhibiter  of  his 
own  talents  ;  a  man,  who  lives  only  on  your  breath, 
and  who,  if  you  withdraw  your  favour,  must  be  con- 
tent to  shrink  into  insignificance  and  silence.  No ; 
it  is,  or  it  ought  to  be,  a  messenger  of  Jesus  Christ, 
w  ho  maintains  nothing  on  his  own  authority ;  who 
comes  not  to  bind  you  to  his  interpretation  as  in- 
fallible, but  to  invite  your  feet  into  the  way  of  peace, 
and  to  repeat  to  you  only  what  God  has  already  ut- 
tered. If  he  had  no  other  authority,  than  that  which 
his  talents  give  him,  and  then  asked  you  to  rest 
on  his  decisions  alone,  you  might,  indeed,  come  pre- 
pared to  refute  him,  or  turn  away  with  contempt. 
But,  if  he  does  not  wander  beyond  his  instructions,  but 
refers  to  the  same  common  standard  of  the  scriptures, 
he  does  not  deserve  your  prejudices.    But,  say  you, 


237 


he  perverts  and  corrupts  the  word  of  God,  and  preach- 
es not  Christ,  but  his  own  imaginations.  My  friends, 
J  cannot  believe,  that  any  man  can  stand  up  before 
you  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  and,  without  any 
other  inducements  than  those,  which  are  commonly  of- 
fered by  this  profession,  deliberately  prevaricate  in 
this  solemn  employment,  or  disguise  what  he  serious- 
ly believes  to  be  the  truth  of  the  gospel.  He  can 
have  no  purpose,  which  is  to  be  answered  by  the  de- 
struction of  evangelical  truth.  All  his  interests  on 
earth  are  centered  in  the  success  of  Christianity,  and 
connected  with  the  growth  of  true  piety  and  virtue  in 
the  world.  But,  you  say,  he  is  miserably  deficient  in 
his  statement  of  truth ;  and  his  hearers  are  perishing 
from  his  incapacity,  or  defects.  What  then  !  Does 
he  not  refer  to  the  authority  of  Christ  and  his  scrip- 
tures as  supreme  ?  Does  he  not  inculcate  a  temper  and 
£  practice,  which,  if  it  were  followed,  you  will  ac- 
knowledge, would  make  this  world  the  abode  of  peace, 
and  people  heaven  with  blessed  spirits  ?  Yes  ;  but  he 
neglects  to  produce  the  only  adequate  motives  ;  he 
does  not  give  that  representation  of  the  doctrines  of 
Christianity,  by  which  alone  it  can  be  rendered  effectu- 
al. But  let  us  not  imagine,  that  God  enlightens,  and 
effects  his  great  purpose  of  restoring  mankind  to  him- 
self, only  by  the  partial  view  s,  which  happen  to  be 
familiar  to  ourselves.  If  you  find,  that  the  preach- 
er aims  at  the  same  object  with  yourself,  and  coin- 
cides with  you  in  the  great  moral  purpose  of  Christ's 
appearance,  do  not  compel  him  to  arrive  at  his  conclu- 


238 


sions  and  effect  his  object  in  the  path,  in  which  you 
have  travelled  ;  but  rather  thank  God,  that  there  are 
men  of  real  sincerity  and  virtue,  who  can  receive 
Christianity  in  a  form  better  suited  to  their  ideas  of 
God,  and  better  adapted  to  their  religious  improve- 
ment, than  your  own. 

Again,  would  you  derive  the  greatest  improve- 
ment from  the  publick  institutions  of  worship  and  in- 
struction, endeavour  always  to  enter  these  walls  un- 
der a  thorough  impression  of  the  nature  of  the  duty,  in 
which  you  are  now  engaging.  For,  my  friends,  in  whose 
presence  are  we  assembled  ?  Of  a  few  friends  only, 
who  have  chosen  this  mode  of  passing  an  easy  hour  ; 
of  a  preacher,  a  poor  mortal  like  yourselves,  who  is 
placed  here  to  furnish  something  for  your  curiosity  ? 
Are  these  the  only  beings,  that  belong  to  this  place  ? 
O  no  ;  here  we  stand  before  the  Majesty  of  heaven 
and  earth,  whose  presence  fills  immensity  ;  we 
come  to  pay  our  homage  to  him,  who  liveth  forever 
and  ever,  the  support  of  all  nature.  We  stand  before 
a  God  of  purity  inexpressible,  and  of  mercy  everlast- 
ing. We  come  to  learn  the  will  of  him,  on  whom 
our  poor  life  every  moment  depends  ;  we  come  to 
throw  ourselves  on  his  compassion,  to  confess  our 
sins,  to  devote  ourselves  to  his  service  through  Jesus 
Christ,  and  to  learn  what  he  has  revealed  to  us  of 
Himself,  of  ourselves,  and  of  our  destination.  This 
is  the  threshold  of  a  more  glorious  temple  in  the  hea- 
vens ;  this  is  an  entrance  to  the  world,  in  which  God 
discovers  himself  to  the  eye  of  man.    In  a  few  years, 


239 


these  privileges  will  have  passed  away  ;  your  prayers 
will  ascend  here  no  more  ;  no  more  will  the  word  of 
God  reach  your  ears  from  this  place  ;  the  follies  of 
your  attendance  cannot  be  retrieved  ;  lost  opportunities 
cannot  be  recalled,  and  all  that  ingratitude  and  neg- 
lect, to  which  these  walls  have  been  a  witness,  will 
rise  up  before  you,  and  reproach  you  with  unutterable 
sorrow. 

Lastly,  would  you  derive  a  substantial  advantage 
from  the  instructions  of  preachers,  bring  your  own 
studies  and  reading  in  aid  of  them.  Do  you  find 
yourselves  unfurnished  with  religious  ideas  ?  Con- 
sider, I  beseech  you,  is  there  any  knowledge  so  in- 
teresting to  you,  as  a  moral  and  an  immortal  creature  ? 
What  !  is  it  of  no  consequence  to  you,  that  God,  the 
supreme  disposer  of  your  fate  through  an  eternity  to 
come,  has  made  you  a  revelation  of  his  will  ?  Can 
any  thing  be  imagined  more  serious  than  such  infor- 
mation, on  which  depends  the  salvation  of  your  souls  ? 
Let  me  entreat  you,  then,  to  make  yourselves  and 
your  children  familiar  with  these  scriptures,  not  by 
a  blind  and  inconsiderate  perusal  of  an  occasional 
passage,  but  by  a  diligent  study  of  them,  as  the  re- 
cords of  God's  will,  and  of  human  duty.  Repose 
not  implicit  reliance  on  our  representations,  on  the  one 
hand  ;  nor  accuse  us,  on  the  other,  of  departing  from 
the  word  of  God,  when  we  give  you  an  illustration  of 
a  passage,  which  may  not  coincide  with  your  previous 
opinions,  or  even  with  the  first  impressions,  which  the 
words  suggest.    For  it  is  not  always  true  in  the  scrip- 


240 

tures,  any  more  than  many  other  works  written  in  a 
foreign  language,  and  in  a  mode  of  thinking  so  differ- 
ent from  our  own,  that  the  first  and  most  natural 
meaning,  whieh  the  words  convey,  is  certainly  the  true 
meaning ;  but  the  history  of  God's  will,  as  it  stands  in 
the  scriptures,  requires  to  be  diligently  and  impartially 
explored,  that  our  faith  may  not  stand  on  the  assump- 
tions of  men,  but  on  the  word  of  God. 

But,  especially,  let  me  beseech  you  not  to  consider 
your  task  as  accomplished,  when  you  have  finished 
your  attendance  here.  The  most  important  duty  re- 
mains, to  apply  what  you  have  heard  to  your  owii 
character  and  circumstances,  and  convert  the  general 
language  of  the  preacher  into  personal  admonitions 
and  directions. 

The  great  work  of  religious  perfection  is  not  to  be 
accomplished  by  thronging  to  the  sanctuary,  and  as- 
sisting at  all  the  exercises  and  discourses  of  others  ; 
but  by  a  studious  attention  to  the  state  of  your  affec- 
tions, by  a  practical  application  of  religion  to  the 
business  of  life,  and  last,  though  not  least,  by  fervent 
and  frequent  prayers  to  Almighty  God  to  bless  his 
word,  to  remove  your  ignorance,  to  quicken  your  un- 
derstanding, and  engage  your  affections  at  all  times 
in  the  great  work  of  your  sanctification  ;  that  so,  not 
being  forgetful  hearers,  but  doers  of  the  word;  you 
maybe  blessed  in  your  deed. 


SERMON  XV. 


PHILIP,  i.  9. 

AND  THIS  I   PRAY,  THAT  YOUR  LOVE  MAY  ABOUND  YET 
MORE   AND  MORE. 

THE  natural  tendency  of  publiek  sentiment  to 
pass  the  limits  of  moderation  extends  also  to  religion  ; 
a  subject,  in  which,  as  all  men  are  interested,  almost 
all  men  have  rushed  into  some  extreme  of  doctrine  or 
practice.  The  history  of  the  church,  it  must  be  ac- 
know.dged,  abounds  with  extravagances,  which 
perplex  the  candid,  and  are  the  jest  of  the  profane. 
Sometimes  religion  has  been  made  to  consist  in  vio- 
lent affections ;  sometimes,  in  exteriour  performances  ; 
now7  it  is  considered  an  affair  of  the  understanding ; 
and  now,  of  the  animal  mechanism.  In  one  age  it  is 
busied  about  what  is  mysterious ;  in  another,  about 
what  is  ecstatick  5  while  by  many  it  is  always  confined 
to  what  is  barely  rational,  cold,  unaffecting  and  sim- 
ple. The  character  of  individual  christians  is  mark- 
ed with  a  diversity  of  expression,  corresponding,  i# 
some  degree,  to  this  variety  of  character  in  periods 
and  in  sects.  The  hearts  of  some  men  are  tender, 
31 


and  their  passions  fervent ;  the  temper  of  others  is 
calm  and  equable,  and  wrought  with  difficulty  into 
ecstasy  and  rapture.    Some  are  extravagantly  fearful 
of  extravagance,  and  are  fortified  against  the  approach 
of  enthusiasm  ;  while  others  look  with  jealousy  on  ev- 
ery exercise  of  reason,  content  with  feeling  what  they 
know  not  how  to  explain,  and  care  not  how  to  under- 
stand.   In  this  flux  and  reflux  of  prevailing  and  per- 
sonal sentiment,  it  is  our  duty  to  attend  to  the  bias  of 
the  age,  to  guard  the  character  of  true  religion  from 
the  reproaches,  it  may  suffer  by  the  excesses  of  its  ar- 
dent friends,  or  the  lukewarmness  of  its  indifferent 
professors.    We  are  to  see,  that  the  waters  of  life 
neither  waste  away  in  noisy  ebullition,  nor  remain 
cold  and  stagnant,  silently  evaporating  without  being 
moved. 

Among  many  christian  professors  there  is,  perhaps, 
too  much  of  a  disposition  to  reduce  Christianity  to  a 
barren  system  of  rational  truths.  They  are  apt  to 
make  it  a  mere  collection  of  specifick  statutes,  like  a 
civil  or  criminal  code,  in  which  the  precise  amount  of 
obligation,  and  limit  of  transgression,  may  be  clearly 
ascertained.  Men  of  inquisitive  and  speculative 
minds  are  in  peculiar  danger  of  preferring  the  exer- 
cise of  the  understanding  to  that  of  the  heart,  and  thus 
of  rendering  the  light  of  religion  little  more  than  a  cold 
corruscation,  which  imparts  no  warmth  to  the  region 
of  the  affections.  But,  my  friends,  when  we  consider 
how  important  a  part  of  our  constitution  the  affections 


243 


are,  and  how  much  they  do  in  ultimately  determin- 
ing the  character  of  the  man,  you  cannot  suppose,  that 
religion  is  the  only  subject,  from  which  the  exercise 
of  them  is  to  be  excluded.    When  we  consider,  too, 
the  infinite  sublimity  of  religious  truths,  the  influence 
they  have  on  human  happiness  here,  and  on  man's 
expectations  for  eternity,  surely  it  cannot  be,  that  he, 
who  is  impassioned  on  every  other  subject,  may  be 
always  lukewarm  on  this,  that  the  affections,  which 
glow  in  every  other  sphere,  must  lose  all  their  warmth, 
as  soon  as  they  touch  the  region  of  theology.  If  it  were 
enough  merely  to  believe,  we  might  believe  as  well  in 
a  malevolent,  as  a  gracious  being.    If  it  were  enough 
to  know  the  sanctions,  and  to  admit  the  obligations  of 
a  law,  the  character  of  the  lawgiver  would  be  of  no 
consideration.    If  it  were  enough  to  keep  the  com- 
mandments according  to  the  barren  letter  of  the  mor- 
al code,  surely  the  first  commandment  would  have 
been  more   than  superfluous,  thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God,  with  all  thy  heart,  soul,  mind,  and 
strength.    But  it  is  not  sufficient,  that  the  affections  be 
merely  admitted  into  religion.    If  they  are  allowed  to- 
enter  it  at  all,  they  must  enter  it  largely.  If  God  is  to  be 
loved,  he  is  to  be  loved  supremely.    If  Jesus,  though 
absent  and  invisible,  is  yet  our  friend,  he  demands,  on 
our  part,  an  attachment  stronger  than  death,  which 
many  waters  cannot  quench,  nor  floods  drown.  If 
the  soul  is  worth  any  thing,  it  is  inestimable ;  you 
cannot  love  it  too  dearly.    If  the  interest  of  any  one 
of  us  reaches  beyond  this  earthly  scene,  it  spreads 


244 

I 

throughout  eternal  duration.  It  should  move  our  feel- 
ings, as  well  as  our  thoughts.    There  cannot  be 
awakened  too  deep  a  sensibility  for  the  immortal  wel- 
fare of  a  being,  who  is  susceptible  of  innumerable 
gradations  of  bliss  and  wretchedness.    I  will  not 
shrink,  then,  from  the  declaration,  that,  if  you  have 
never  felt  the  pleasures  of  devotion,  I  must  doubt 
your  piety  ;  if  you  have  never  felt  the  sense  of 
your  unworthiness,  I  must  doubt  your  humility  ;  if 
you  have  never  felt  the  luxury  of  doing  good,  I  doubt 
your  generosity  ;   if  you  have  never  felt  the  in- 
expressible worth  of  the  christian  revelation,  if  you 
have  never  glowed  with  gratitude  to  its  author,  and 
admiration  of  his  character,  you  know  nothing  of 
Christianity.    I  must  say,  if  your  soul  has  never  soar- 
ed into  the  region  of  immortality,  if  your  expectations 
have  never  soared  impatient  for  the  free  range  of 
heaven,  you  know  religion  only  as  a  law,  and  not  as 
an  enjoyment.    It  is  your  schoolmaster,  and  not  your 
confidential  friend.    You  have  not  leaned  upon  the 
bosom  of  Jesus  5  you  have  only  entered  the  lecture 
room  of  a  philosopher.    Such  was  not  the  disciple, 
whom  Jesus  loved. 

The  scriptures  are  written,  it  is  true,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  orientals,  and  abound  in  phrases  and  ex- 
pressions of  such  passionate  hyperbole,  as  seem,  to 
the  colder  and  more  chastised  imaginations  of  the 
western  world,  like  the  language  of  exaggerated  feel- 
ing. But,  with  all  this  allowance,  and  it  is  great,  they 
cannot  be  made  to  describe  a  religion,  which  exists 


2h5 


only  in  the  head.    There  is  not  a  worthy  passion, 
which  silently  pervades,  or  tumultuously  agitates  the 
breast  of  man,  that  has  not  been  enlisted  in  the  cause 
of  God,  and  encouraged  in  the  scriptures.    Hope,  the 
most  animated  of  the  affections,  is,  in  our  religion,  the 
swelling  spring  of  ineffable  happiness.    "  Blessed  be 
the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who, 
according  to  his  abundant  mercy,  has  begotten  us 
again  into  a  lively  hope  by  the  resurrection  of  Jesus 
from  the  dead."    The  most  impatient  desires  of  re- 
ligious improvement  are  represented,  as  a  part  of  the 
christian  character :  "  Blessed  are  they,  which  do  hun- 
ger and  thirst  after  righteousness."    "  Let  him  that 
is  athirst  come,  and  I  will  give  unto  him  the  waters 
of  life  freely."    Joy  enters  largely  into  the  christian 
temper,  "  For  the  fruit  of  the  spirit  is  love  and  joy." 
Sorrow,  deep,  piercing,  and  humiliating,  is  not  exclu- 
ded.   (£  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall 
be  comforted ;"  and  "  the  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  bro- 
ken spirit."    Gratitude,  I  need  not  tell  you,  is  a  vital 
principle  of  religious  obedience  ;  and  compassion  is  a 
sentiment  so  essential  to  religion,  that  it  has  even 
given  a  name  to  the  righteous  ;  and  a  merciful  is  equiv- 
alent to  a  good  man.    "  I  will  have  mercy  and  not 
sacrifice,"  was  the  passage  so  dear  to  our  compassion- 
ate Saviour.    Zeal,  too,  is  not  to  be  rejected  for  its 
abuses,  if  Christ,  when  he  gave  himself  for  us,  intend- 
ed, not  only  to  redeem  us  from  iniquity,  but  "  to  purify 
unto  himself  a  peculiar  people,  zealous  of  good 
works."    To  these  christian  affections  I  need  not 


246 


add  the  comprehensive  one  of  love,  for  it  is  not  only 
represented  as  the  source,  attendant,  and  result  of 
true  religion,  but  it  is,  in  numerous  passages,  com- 
mended as  the  substance  and  epitome  of  duty,  the 
fulfilling  of  the  law,  the  end  of  the  commandment. 
From  this  enumeration  you  may  understand,  that  re- 
ligion is  not  a  bare  comprehension  of  truths,  not  the 
knowledge  and  remembrance  of  facts,  not  the  con- 
fession  of  a  faith,  or  the  observation  of  duties  formal- 
ly defined  ;  but  it  is  a  celestial  spirit,  which  mingles 
with  and  informs  all  our  duties,  in  secret,  and  in  pub- 
lick,  which  agitates  the  mass  of  our  intellectual  and 
moral  faculties,  which  discovers  itself  in  fears  and 
hopes,  joys  and  sorrows,  gratitude  and  humiliation, 
earnestness  and  all-hallowed  love. 

I  know  there  are  some,  who  doubt  the  possibility, 
and  more,  who  doubt  the  propriety  of  introducing  the 
affections  into  real  religion ;  and  their  objections  we 
propose  now  to  consider.  As  God  must,  in  every 
system  of  faith,  be  the  principal  object  of  religious 
contemplation,  if  we  can  establish,  upon  rational 
grounds,  the  sentiment  of  love  to  him,  the  most  im- 
portant characteristick  of  the  religion  of  the  affec- 
tions is  secured.  It  is  objected,  then,  that  a  being,  so 
far  removed  beyond  the  limits  of  human  conception, 
can  hardly  be  the  object  of  confidence  and  love.  We 
can  fear  infinite  power,  we  can  be  astonished  at  un- 
searchable wisdom,  we  can  be  awed  by  inapproach- 
able purity,  joined  with  inconceivable  grandeur  ;  but 
to  love  a  being,  who  has  nothing  in  common  with 


247 

mortality,  nothing  visible,  tangible,  or  audible  about 
him,  is  not  within  the  ordinary  exercise  of  man's  af- 
fections.    Yet  it  appears  to  me,  that  this  single  cir- 
cumstance, that  God  is  not  the  object  of  any  one  of 
our  senses,  is  abundantly  compensated  by  the  consid- 
eration, that  he  is  never  absent  from  us ;  that  he  com- 
passeth  continually  our  path  and  our  lying  down,  and 
that  we  cannot  remove  a  step  from  the  sphere  of  his 
presence ;  that  every  sigh,  which  escapes  us,  reaches 
his  ear,  and  not  an  affectionate  movement  springs  up 
in  our  hearts,  to  which  he  is  not  intuitively  attentive. 
The  faintest  glow  of  gratitude,  which  lights  up  the 
countenance,  shines  before  his  eyes  ;  and  the  least 
cloud  of  godly  sorrow,  which  passes  over  the  brow, 
Sends  its  shade  to  the  throne  of  God,  encompassed 
as  it  is  with  "  undiminished  brightness."  Why, 
however,  is  the  affection  of  love  toward  infinite  good- 
ness more  unintelligible,  than  that  of  fear  toward  in- 
finite power  ?  A  power  unseen  is  commonly  the  more 
dreadful  from  its  obscurity.   Why,  too,  should  not  the 
other  perfections  of  God,  as  well  as  his  power,  be  the 
objects  of  affections,  refined  into  more  sublimity  and 
purity,  and  wrought  into  higher  force,  under  the  chas- 
tising influence  of  an  all-pervading  awe  ?    Let  it  not 
be  inferred  from  any  of  these  remarks,  that  God  is  to 
be  loved,  merely  because  he  has  been  good  to  us, 
or  because  his  favour  may  be  profitable  to  us  here- 
after.   Affection  is  nothing,  which  rests  not  in  its  ob- 
ject.   Love  of  God,  it  is  true,  may  be  originally  gen- 
erated by  acts  of  personal  benefaction ;  but  he,  whe 


248 


loves  his  Creator,  merely  because  he  has  considered 
him  as  the  source  of  all  that  he  has  yet  enjoy ed,  and 
the  security  of  all  that  he  has  yet  to  expect,  loves 
him  not  yet  for  himself  alone.  If  the  fig-tree  should 
not  blossom,  and  there  should  be  no  fruit  on  the  vine, 
if  the  labour  of  the  olive  should  fail,  and  the  herd  be 
cut  off  from  the  stall,  such  a  man  loses  all  the  conso- 
lations of  religion,  and  looks  round  in  disappointment 
for  a  resting  place  for  his  affections.  His  (rod  beams 
only  In  the  sunshine  ;  clouds  come  over  his  prospect, 
and,  behold,  his  sun  is  set.  No,  christians,  the  love, 
which  God  demands,  is  disinterested  and  supreme. 
It  sways  the  mingled  crowd  of  the  other  affections, 
and  presides  in  the  large  assembly  of  the  inclinations 
of  the  heart.  "  The  christian's  love  of  God,"  says 
Wilberforce,  "  is  composed  of  admiration,  of  prefer- 
ence, of  hope,  of  trust,  of  joy,  chastised  by  a  rever- 
ential awe,  wakeful  with  continued  gratitude." 

But  why  is  it,  that,  in  religion  alone,  things  spirit- 
ual and  invisible  are  to  have  no  command  over  th& 
affections  ?  Is  not  this  theory  perpetually  disproved 
by  every  observation  of  men's  ruling  passions  ?  The 
metaphysician  becomes  extravagantly  fond  of  his  ob- 
scure and  lofty  speculations.  The  mathematician  is 
in  raptures  with  the  beauty  of  a  theorem,  of  which 
the  world  sees  nothing  but  the  lines  and  angles.  The 
artist  glows  with  imaginations  of  ideal  beauty.  The 
man  of  taste  has  his  fancies  and  his  fondnesses,  and 
discerns  and  loves  a  thousand  inexpressible  delica- 
cies, impalpable  to  ordinary  minds.    And  has  relig- 


249 

ion  nothing  to  elevate  the  soul,  nothing  to  absorb  the 
thoughts,  to  summon  the  passions,  to  make  men  feel  ? 
Because  God  cannot  be  seen,  shall  he  be  therefore 
excluded  from  our  affections  ?  Because  he  is  purity 
and  goodness,  unmingled  with  the  grossness  of  hu- 
man nature,  is  the  grandest  object,  on  which  our 
minds  can  dwell,  to  be  forever  contemplated  in  dis- 
tant, uninteresting  speculation  ?  God  is  not  to  be  lov- 
ed !  Cold,  calculating  mortal,  go  with  your  theory 
and  your  conclusions  to  the  company  of  the  worldly 
projector ;  unfold  them  to  the  plodding  drudges  of 
avarice  ;  proclaim  them  in  the  haunts  of  men  and  wo- 
men without  souls,  and  in  the  dens  of  savage  philoso- 
phy. There  they  may  listen  to  you.  You  have  noth- 
ing to  do  among  christians.  It  is  all  absurdity  U> 
your  ear,  that  God  so  loved  the  world,  as  to  give  his 
only  begotten  and  dearly  beloved  Son,  that  those 
who  believe  on  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  ev- 
erlasting life.  No  doubt,  in  your  estimation,  Paul 
was  little  short  of  a  madman,  when  he  exclaimed,  I 
am  sure,  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor 
principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor 
things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other 
creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of 
God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 

A  more  plausible  objection  to  the  admission  of  the 
affections  into  religion  arises  from  the  enthusiasm, 
to  which  they  are  said  naturally  to  tend.  Mysticism 
and  fanaticism  have  ever  had  their  numerous  and  in- 
sane admirers.  I  know,  that  some  men  are  constitu- 
32 


250 

tionally  apt  to  mistake  their  sensations  for  sentiments 
of  the  heart,  and  love  to  feel,  rather  than  to  think : 
men,  to  whom  the  fluctuations  of  their  religions  feel- 
ings arc  a  kind  of  mercury  to  their  religious  improve- 
ment. Indeed,  it  is  one  of  the  hardest  problems  of 
religion,  to  define  the  sphere,  or  ascertain  the  extent, 
of  religious  affections.  Good  men,  who  have  seen 
the  heat  of  fanaticism  generating  in  every  soil  a 
thousand  noxious  weeds,  and  innumerable  mush- 
rooms of  sanctity,  which  have  perished  almost  as 
soon  as  they  appeared,  have  fled,  perhaps  too  pre- 
cipitately, to  what  has  been  called  the  frigid  zone 
of  Christianity,  where  all  is  hard  and  frost-bound, 
and  even  the  light  of  the  region  seems  reflected  only 
from  snows,  from  which  it  plays  without  any  joyous 
warmth,  or  fertilizing  influence. 

But  why  should  we  perpetually  resort  to  the  old  fal- 
lacy of  reasoning,  from  the  abuse  of  what  is  good,  to 
its  utter  inutility?  Is  it  the  affections  only,  which  are 
liable  to  this  corruption  ?  Is  not  every  thing  valuable  in 
human  life  exposed  to  grosser  perversion,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  its  greater  intrinsick  worth  ?  What  think 
you  of  reasoning  ?  Has  not  that  sure  and  celestial  in- 
strument of  human  instruction,  as  some  would  dignify 
it,  been  often  debased  into  the  most  wretched  sophistry, 
exerted  in  every  possible  form  of  fallacious  deduc- 
tion, and  turned  against  the  dearest  interests  and  ex- 
pectations of  man  ?  Suppose  you  could  convert  Chris- 
tianity into  a  mere  system  of  metaphysicks,  do  you 
think  it  would  be  more  stable,  or  influential,  or  excel- 


351 

lent  ?  Indeed,  I  think  the  abuses,  to  which  our  relig- 
ion would  then  be  exposed,  would  not  be  less  deplor- 
able, than  those  produced  by  the  abuse  of  the  affec- 
tions, A  sophism  may  be  as  fatal  to  the  interests  of 
the  soul,  as  a  convulsion  or  a  trauce  ;  and  is  sometimes 
as  rapid  in  its  private  circulation,  as  the  progress  of  a 
sigh  or  a  groan  through  a  fanatical  assembly. 

I  may  appeal  to  you,  that  I  have  never  been  the 
advocate  of  what  may  be  called  the  madness  of  sanc- 
tity ;  but,  if  Christianity  is  to  exist  at  all,  my  friends, 
let  it  exist  with  some  vitality.  Let  us  not  substitute 
in  its  place  a  senseless,  motionless  statue  of  marble, 
however  polished  or  welLproportioned.  True,  our  re- 
ligion is  a  religion  for  philosophers  ;  but  it  is  a  relig- 
ion also  for  men,  for  poor  and  ignorant  men.  It  provides 
consolations,  and  joys,  and  hopes,  as  well  as  truths. 
You  may  sit  calmly  in  your  closet,  and  smile  at  the 
imagined  raptures  and  holy  musings,  as  you  may  call 
them,  of  your  less  informed  fellow  christians.  But 
take  care  that  the  time  do  not  come,  when  you  may 
envy  them  their  feelings  ;  take  care,  that  your  philos- 
ophy does  not  chill  the  last  blood,  that  passes  through 
your  heart.  You  may  strive  in  vain  to  catch  a  breath 
of  enthusiasm,  to  buoy  you  up  in  the  arms  of  death. 
Your  religion  will  not  then  first  descend  from  the 
head  to  the  heart.  You  have  disdained  the  aid  of 
the  affections  in  religion,  while  your  attention  was  en- 
grossed in  the  affairs  of  the  world,  and  you  had 
enough  of  occupation  to  keep  you  from  too  much  in, 
terest  in  the  affairs  of  your  soul.    When  you  now 


H6% 

find  it  vain  to  love  the  world  any  longer,  when  you., 
find,  that  you  cannot  enjoy  the  fondness  of  your  friends 
but  a  few  hours,  the  soul,  astonished  and  alarmed, 
looks  round,  as  it  departs,  for  an  object  for  its  affec- 
tions. But  in  vain  !  All  before  it  is  comfortless.  Not 
a  hold  has  the  fond  heart  of  any  thing  in  the  immea- 
surable void,  which  is  deepening  around  it.  God  is  its 
judge,  but  it  wants  a  friend.  Jesus  was  called  itf» 
teacher,  but  the  soul  knows  not  how  to  embrace  the 
feet  of  its  deliverer. 

But  it  is  still  further  objected,  that  the  affections 
are  a  fallacious  test  of  religious  worth  ;  that  we  ar& 
in  continual  danger  of  mistaking  the  fervour  of  the 
spirit  for  genuine  love  of  God,  and  transitory  move- 
ments of  the  passions  for  internal  principles  of  good- 
ness. It  is  true,  that  the  passions  are  an  uncertain 
guide  in  religion  ;  and  the  external  and  organical  ex- 
pressions of  internal  feelings  are  still  more  illusory. 
But  this  is  not  less  true  of  every  other  external  indi- 
cation of  moral  goodness.  The  only  being,  whom  it 
is  finally  important  should  not  be  deceived,  cannot, 
for  a  moment,  be  deluded  by  the  most  consummate 
hypocrite,  human  or  super-human.  As  to  man,  though 
the  assertion  may  appear  extravagant,  I  hesitate  not 
to  say,  that  we  may  be  as  easily  deceived  in  the  real 
character  of  others,  if  we  judge  from  their  publick 
and  visible  actions,  as  if  we  judged  only  from  their 
passionate  emotions,  or  signs  of  high  wrought  enthu- 
siasm. I  am  not  more  sure  of  the  real  internal  worth 
of  the  man,  all  whose  conduct  is  regular  and  punctil- 


253 


ious,  without  passions  and  without  variations,  than  I 
am  of  the  enthusiastick  and  zealous  christian.  Un- 
der the  show  of  regularity,  the  former  may  conceal 
a  hard  heart  and  a  cunning  hand.  I  am  not  more 
sure  of  the  piety  of  him,  who  regularly  goes  up  to 
the  sanctuary,  and,  perhaps,  dozes  away  his  hour,  or 
statedly  puts  up  a  lifeless  prayer  at  home,  than  of  his, 
whose  zeal  keeps  him  in  the  continual  ardour  of  re- 
ligious  exercises,  in  publick  and  in  private.  Under 
all  this  form  of  godliness  there  may  be  hid  much 
sanctimonious  imposition.  No,  my  friends,  there  is 
no  modification  of  human  conduct,  that  may  not  de- 
ceive us  ;  and  as  to  self-deception,  I  know  not  wheth- 
er the  formal  observance  of  external  duty  may  not, 
sometimes,  delude  us  into  greater  errours  with  re- 
spect to  ourselves,  and  encourage  a  more  dangerous 
self-complacency,  than  the  equivocal  glow  of  the  feel- 
ings, and  agitation  of  the  nerves.  Hence  the  objec- 
tion, that  the  affections,  in  particular,  are  a  fallacious 
test  of  real  holiness,  is  of  inconsiderable  consequence ; 
but  it  is  not  of  inconsiderable  consequence  to  remem- 
ber, that  he  may  well  be  suspected,  who,  on  every 
other  subject,  is  warm  and  impetuous,  but  in  religion, 
is  indifferent  and  cold.  That  man  may  well  be  sus- 
pected, who  takes  an  active  interest  in  every  event 
that  transpires,  is  busy  in  every  project  that  is  un- 
dertaken, but,  in  religion  only,  is  idle,  inattentive, 
and  incredulous.  Such  a  man  is  not  to  plead,  that  his 
feelings  are  not  easily  excited,  or  that  his  constitu- 
tional temperament  is  lukewarm ;  and  one  would 


254 

think,  that,  if  he  were  dead  to  every  other  sentiment, 
the  immense  interest,  which  he  himself  has  at  stake  in 
eternity,  and  the  still  greater  interest  of  a  whole 
world  of  living  souls,  to  whom  religion  is  all  impor- 
tant, would  rouse  every  latent  spark  of  passion  in  his 
breast,  and  suffer  him  not  to  rest  in  the  cause  of  God, 
till  the  affections  themselves  were  quenched  in  the 
flood  of  death. 

In  what  remains  of  this  discourse  we  shall  consider 
the  modifications,  to  which  religious  affections  are 
subject  from  various  causes,  and  some  of  the  means, 
by  which  the  affections  are  repressed  and  destroyed. 
Though  it  appears  from  what  has  been  said,  that  the 
exercise  of  them  constitutes  a  most  important  part  of 
the  religious  character,  you  cannot  fail  to  have  ob- 
served, that,  in  men  of  apparently  equal  seriousness, 
they  discover  themselves  in  very  unequal  degrees. 
It  is  not  always  fair  to  conclude,  that  the  highest 
visible  emotion  indicates  the  highest  degree  of  re- 
ligious sensibility.  Perhaps  it  may  be  rather  con- 
cluded, that  men,  in  similar  circumstances,  and  under 
similar  preparatory  discipline,  usually  possess  a  more 
equal  degree  of  this  sensibility,  than  is  commonly  im- 
agined \  and  that  the  difference  between  them  is, 
that  some  are  cautious  and  reserved,  others  unguarded 
and  communicative,  in  the  expression  of  it.  The 
causes,  that  modify  the  exercise  of  the  affections  in  dif- 
ferent minds,  are  extremely  numerous,  and  some  of 
them  we  proceed  to  consider. 


255 


1.  The  external  exhibition  of  a  man's  religious 
feelings  depends  much  on  his  original  temperament. 
Some  men  are  cautious  and  cool.  They  are  ever  on 
their  guard  against  the  contagion  of  passion  ;  they  re- 
fuse to  be  wrought  upon  by  eloquence,  and  are  with 
difficulty  awakened  by  animated  representation.  Mod- 
est and  retiring  in  their  dispositions,  they  love  to  con- 
ceal the  impressions,  which  they  reeeive,  and,  particu- 
larly in  religion,  they  dread  the  eye  of  eurious  obser- 
vation. There  are  many  men,  whose  ruling  passion 
and  whose  favourite  bias  you  will  hardly  discover, 
even  after  an  intimate  acquaintance.  They  never 
thoroughly  expose  themselves,  though  there  is  noth- 
ing in  their  hearts,  which  they  should  be  ashamed  to 
unveil.  I  doubt  not  there  are  thousands,  who  practise, 
in  secret,  exercises  of  devotion,  of  which  the  world 
suspects  nothing,  and  which,  if  it  did  suspect,  it  might 
deride.  Thousands,  from  timidity,  or  from  indecision, 
avoid  those  means  of  religious  cultivation,  which  might 
call  forth  more  of  their  religion  into  publick  view,  than 
they  are  willing  to  display.  Would  to  Grod  I  could 
believe  this  class  to  be  more  numerous,  than  that  of 
those,  whose  religious  feelings  are  never  to  be  recover- 
ed from  that  flood  of  worldly  and  selfish  pursuits,  in 
which  they  are  forever  overwhelmed ! — Others,  of  san- 
guine temperament,  are  easily  affected  by  the  language 
of  feeling,  and  readily  catch  the  tones  of  passion.  They 
love  the  sympathetick  communion  of  souls  ;  and  hasten 
to  kindle  the  torch  of  religious  affection  at  every  light, 
which  they  discover  in  another.    These  are  the  first 


256 

in  every  exercise  of  piety,  and  rush  forward  in  every 
project  of  benevolence.  They  seem  to  be  destined, 
in  the  arrangement  of  Providence,  to  serve  as  leaders 
of  his  great  purposes.  They  call  forth  the  less  sensi- 
ble, and  move  the  less  active,  who,  sometimes,  at  last 
outstrip  their  predecessors  in  the  race,  though  they 
themselves  would  never  have  started  first  in  the  course. 
They  can  hardly  tolerate  any  other,  than  an  affection- 
ate and  tender  mode  of  religious  instruction.  They 
think,  they  have  gained  nothing,  if  they  have  not  been 
wrought  into  powerful  emotion  ;  and  suspect  them- 
selves of  unfruitfulness,  if  they  have  not  felt  the  dews 
of  divine  grace  sensibly  descending  on  them.  Thesa 
men  are  easily  seduced  by  novelty,  and  rush  in- 
stinctively towards  the  most  ardent  minds.  They  are 
often  imposed  upon  by  the  show  of  zeal  in  others  ;  and 
are  too  apt  to  suspect  a  want  of  piety  in  those,  who 
fall  below  the  actual  temperature  of  their  own  feelings. 
In  short,  when  they  are  truly  sincere,  they  are  among 
the  best  of  christians  ;  but  when  disguised,  or  worldly 
passions  have  mingled  with  their  religious  affections, 
they  are  the  most  troublesome  and  dangerous  of  men. 

2.  The  religious  affections  are  also  considerably 
modified  by  the  difference  of  the  doctrines  embraced. 
Those,  who  consider  the  human  race  as  originally 
corrupt,  as  utterly  lost  in  the  depravity,  which  per- 
vades their  nature,  are  frequently  plunged  in  the  most 
distressing  anxiety,  and  humbled  with  an  oppressive 
sense  of  their  inherent  loathsomeness  in  the  sight  of  a 
God  of  purity  and  justice.    Hence,  as  soon,  as  their 


257 

minds  are  directed  to  other  and  more  cheering  truths, 
as  the  benignity  of  Jesus  and  the  fulness  of  God's 
grace  to  the  penitent,  a  light  breaks  in  upon  their 
dark  and  dreary  meditations.    The  change  in  their 
feelings  is  entire.  They  exult  in  raptures  of  gratitude, 
and  triumph  in  the  greatness  of  their  deliverance. 
Their  previous  conceptions  of  the  character  of  God, 
as  a  being  of  inflexible  justice,  form  an  inexpressible 
contrast  to  their  views  of  Jesus,  who  appears  a  minis- 
tering angel  of  comfort,  pardon,  and  grace.  Their 
religious  life  afterwards  is  made  up  of  extreme  fluctu- 
ations of  feeling,  according  to  the  views,  which  hap- 
pen to  predominate  in  their  minds  ;  and,  if  they  do 
not  fall  into  spiritual  pride  and  self-complacency,  they 
preserve,  through  life,  much  of  the  enthusiasm,  w  hich 
is  inspired  by  the  awfulness  of  some,  and  the  sweetness 
of  others  of  their  contemplations.    Those  men,  on  the 
contrary,  whose  system  excludes  these  views  of  hope- 
less depravity,  and  who  are  fond  of  dwelling  on  the 
benevolence  of  the  divine  character,  are  seldom  hurri- 
ed away  by  excessive  transports,  or  overwhelmed 
with  the  despondency  of  dread.    Their  affections  are 
habitually  equable,  usually  reverent,  seldom  violent, 
and  sometimes  cold.  Their  system,  too,  as  far  as  it  re- 
spects the  character  and  oflices  of  Jesus,  leads  them  to 
transfer  more  directly  to  God  the  Father  many  of  those 
affections,  which  other  christians  bestow  almost  exclu- 
sively on  the  Son.  Though  they  often  feel  the  sublime 
spirit  of  devotion,  and  rise  on  the  wings  Gf  hope  to 
the  abodes  of  unsullied  perfection,  yet  they  do  not 
33 


258 


rise  from  such  an  abyss  of  wretchedness,  as  the  oth- 
ers, and  they  seldom  sink  again  below  the  ordinary 
level  of  human  feelings. 

3.  The  affections,  also,  are  modified  by  the  meta- 
physical direction  of  religious  inquirers.    Some  men 
seem  to  find  a  substitute  for  the  simple  exercise  of  the 
affections  in  a  most  intense  application  of  the  under- 
standing ;  and  while  the  unlettered  christian  seeks,  in 
his  frequent,  but  superficial  contemplations,  for  a  few 
plain  and  striking  truths,  the  abstruse  inquirer  is  in- 
volved in  deep  speculations,  and  finds  an  interest  in 
them,  which  is  mistaken  for  religious  affection.    i(  In- 
deed, strong  reasoning  powers  and  quick  feelings  do 
not  often  unite  in  the  same  person.    Men  of  a  seien- 
tifick  turn  seldom  lay  their  hearts  open  to  impressions. 
Previously  biassed  by  their  love  of  system,  they  do, 
indeed,  attend  the  offices  of  religion,  but  they  dare  not 
trust  themselves  with  the  preacher,  and  are  contin- 
ually upon  the  watch  to  observe,  whether  every  senti- 
ment agrees  with  their  own  particular  tenets."* 

We  pass  over  some  other  modifications  of  the  re- 
ligious affections,  and  would  now  attend  to  some  of 
the  causes,  which  most  effectually  repress  and  ulti- 
mately extinguish  them.  We  would  remark,  by  the 
way,  that  the  circumstances  hitherto  enumerated, 
though  sources  of  diversity  in  the  manner  of  exercis- 
ing religious  affections,  are  by  no  means  inconsistent 
with  them,  by  no  means  inconsistent  with  a  supreme 
love  of  God,  genuine  charity  to  men,  deep  interest  in 

*  Mrs.  Barbauld's  Essay  on  Devotional  Taste. 


259 

the  world  to  come,  or  with  any  of  the  secret  joys  or 
sorrows  of  a  serious  mind.  But  there  are  pursuits  of 
life,  and  habits  of  mind,  which  repress,  and  others, 
which  utterly  destroy  the  religious  affections,  which 
freeze  the  current  of  the  soul's  best  feelings,  and 
leave  us  but  a  name  to  live,  while  we  are  dead. 

Among  these  last  must  be  reckoned  worldly  and 
avaricious  pursuits.  If  any  man  love  the  world,  the 
love  of  the  Father  is  not  in  him.  There  is  not  a 
maxim  in  religion  more  sure  in  its  application.  An 
excessive  love  of  the  gains  of  worldliness  obscures  all 
the  finest  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  incrusts  all  the 
faculties  and  sentiments  worthy  of  a  rational,  an  im- 
mortal soul.  If  a  worldly  man  sometimes  thinks  of 
God,  as  a  personal  benefactor,  he  can  feel  no  compla- 
cency in  his  character  of  universal  and  disinterested 
good  will.  He  has  no  place  for  what  is  sublime, 
spiritual,  and  intellectual.  When  such  a  man  attends 
on  the  publick  offices  of  devotion,  he  never  resigns 
himself  to  the  impressions  of  awe  and  sanctity,  which 
belong  to  this  place,  nor  does  he  open  his  heart  to  the 
influences  of  piety.  He  is  brooding  over  his  disas- 
ters, his  gains,  and  his  speculations.  The  regular 
habits  of  business,  or  the  moral  sense  remaining  in 
the  community,  keep  such  a  man  within  the  limits  of 
legal  and  honourable  dealing.  Beyond  this  sphere 
his  conscience  never  expatiates,  it  never  inquires,  and 
seldom  accuses  him.  With  him  gain  is  godliness. 
His  desires  do  not  extend  beyond  this  world's  goods, 
perishable  as  they  are.    In  his  retirement  the  pros- 


2(50 


pects  of  new  acquisitions  are  the  only  visions,  which 
float  before  his  eyes.  When  he  composes  himself  to 
sleep,  the  last  thought,  which  visits  him,  rises  from  the 
earth,  and  drives  away  the  shadowy  forms  of  heavenly 
things,  which  w  ere  gathering  round  his  pillow.  And, 
if  he  commend  himself  to  God,  as  soon  as  the  formal 
duty  is  done,  Mammon  springs  upon  his  prey. 

I  say,  then,  the  love  of  gain  is  encroaching  and  des- 
potick ;  and  the  longer  it  predominates,  the  more  heart- 
hardening  is  its  influence.  It  checks  every  elastick 
effort,  which  the  soul  makes  toward  heaven.  It 
makes  a  man  unworthy  of  the  very  pleasures,  he  can 
enjoy  5  and  I  know  not  a  more  dreadful  punishment 
for  the  mind,  in  which  this  principle  reigns,  than  to 
disclose  to  its  view  the  joys  above,  which  it  cannot 
reach,  to  give  it  a  glimpse  of  satisfactions  immortal 
and  uncorrupt,  which  it  cannot  relish,  and  then  con- 
demn it  to  the  perpetual  and  grovelling  labours  of 
avaricious  and  earthly  pursuits. 

Another  destroyer  of  the  religious  affections,  and 
the  last,  which  we  mention,  is  the  love  of  pleasure. 
There  are  two  classes  of  men,  that  are  govern- 
ed by  the  love  of  pleasure  ;  the  gay  and  fickle, 
who  are  ever  lost  in  the  rapid  succession  of  amuse- 
ments, and  the  sensual,  who  are  forever  plung- 
ed in  gross  and  criminal  enjoyments.  The  time 
and  the  passions  of  the  former  are  all  monopo- 
lized. The  ideas  of  God  and  of  heaven  will  not  har- 
monize with  the  gay  and  busy  spectacles,  in  which 
they  seek  for  satisfaction.    The  souls  of  such  men 


261 


revolt  at  the  intrusion  of  religious  ideas  ;  and  the  ex- 
pectation of  an  approaching  amusement  chases  away 
the  recollection  of  all  that  is  serious.    Abstract  con- 
templations and  invisible  things  can  have  no  charms 
for  the  mind,  which  follows  continually  the  ever- 
changing  figures  of  fashion  5  and  such  a  mind  must 
be  debilitated  in  all  its  powers,  and  lose  even  its  ter- 
restrial affections,  by  the  fickleness  and  folly  of  all 
its  exercises.     As  it  would  be  impossible  for  an  as- 
tronomer, to  make  any  observation  on  the  remote  and 
celestial  luminaries,  who  should  be  gazing  continual- 
ly on  the  clouds,  that  flit  across  the  sky,  and  noticing, 
through  his  glass,  the  innumerable  successive  hues 
which  gild  them,  so  the  mind,  that  is  pursuing  the  end- 
less varieties  of  dissipation,  knows  nothing,  thinks 
nothing,  and  is  interested  in  nothing,  which  is  pure, 
intellectual,  and  heavenly. 

The  love  of  sensual  gratification  is  yet  more  de- 
grading. All  the  passions  of  those  who  cherish 
it  seem  to  be  converted  into  appetites  ;  all  their 
affections,  into  lusts.  If  religious  feelings  of  a  spu- 
rious character  unite,  as  they  sometimes  do,  with 
carnal  passions,  a  most  horrible  and  depraved  com- 
bination is  formed,  which  brings  disgrace  upon  the 
holiest  affections  of  the  soul.  No,  christians,  the  love 
of  pleasure  and  the  love  of  God  are  irreconcilable. 
They  are  at  continual  war ;  and  they  never  can  divide 
the  empire  of  the  same  breast.  I  shudder  to  think, 
vain  and  profligate  man,  how  far  you  are  from  the 
temper  of  the  gospel !  It  appals  me  to  imagine  the 


262 


sufferings,  which  will  be  necessary  to  bring  vou  even 
to  consideration.  And  how  dreadful  may  be  the  dis- 
cipline, which  must  bring  your  heart  to  enjoy  a  pure, 
holy,  and  spiritual  religion,  God  only  knows.  Will 
you,  then,  continue  to  love  supremely  a  world,  which 
will  desert  you?  Will  you  loosely  ramble  on  the 
brink  of  perdition  for  the  worthless  flowers  of  plea- 
sure, which  you  can  gather  there  ?  O  sinner,  think, 
I  beseech  you,  how  fearful  a  thing  it  will  be,  to  stand 
before  a  God,  w  hom  you  have  never  loved  ;  to  see  a 
Saviour,  whom  you  have  never  deigned  to  honour, 
and  whom,  by  your  conduct,  you  have  treated  with 
every  species  of  neglect  and  contumely.  Remember, 
senseless  and  brutal  man,  heaven  is  not  a  place  for 
earthly  minds.  If  your  affections  have  not  been  pla- 
ced above,  you  will  not  find  there  a  friend  to  wel- 
come you ;  you  will  not  find  a  joy,  which  you  can 
taste,  or  a  thought  familiar  and  dear  to  your  medita- 
tions. Christians,  I  pray  God,  that  your  love  may 
abound  yet  more  and  more,  in  knowledge  and  in  all 
judgment,  that  ye  may  approve  the  things  that  are 
excellent. 


SERMON  XVI. 


PROV.  xxv.  28. 

HE  THAT   HATH  NO   RULE  OYER  HIS  OWN  SPIRIT,  IS  LIKE  A 
CITY   THAT   IS   BROKEN   DOWN,  AND   WITHOUT  WALLS. 

NO  man  can  be  said  to  have  attained  complete 
rule  over  his  own  spirit,  who  has  not  under  his  habit- 
ual  control  the  tenour  of  his  thoughts,  the  language 
of  his  lips,  the  motions  of  lust  and  appetite,  and  the 
energy  of  his  passions.    This  shows  you  at  once  the 
extent,  and  the  division  of  our  subject.    By  its  ex- 
tent you  will  immediately  perceive,  that  it  excludes 
from  the  praise  of  self-command  much  of  what  passes 
in  the  world  for  great  moderation.     There  are  many 
men  of  such  stagnant  and  heavy  tempers,  that  no  ir- 
ritation can  provoke  them,  and  no  injuries  rouse  them 
to  resentment ;  men,  who  are  never  thrown  off  their 
guard  by  rage,  and  yet  indulge  with  much  compla- 
cency in  all  the  grossness  of  animal  pleasure,  and 
resign  themselves*  soul,  spirit,  and  body,  to  the 
tyranny  of  sensuality,  intemperance,  and  lust.  To 
compliment  such  men  with  the  praise  of  self-mastery 
would  be  absurd 5  yet  this  virtue  is,  in  general,  sup. 


264 


posed  to  consist  in  the  mere  suppression  of  anger. 
There  are  others,  who  seem  to  have  established  a 
perfect  control  of  the  tongue,  that  little  member, 
which  setteth  on  fire  the  course  of  things ;  men  guard- 
ed in  speech,  careful  of  olFence,  using  knowledge 
aright,  who  yet  secretly  cherish  a  spirit  of  uncxtiu- 
guishable  resentment,  and  take  no  pains  to  conquer  a 
passion,  which  they  find  it  so  easy  to  silence.  There 
are  others,  who  exhibit  the  utmost  modesty  of  speech, 
temperance  of  appetites,  and  gentleness  of  passions, 
who  yet  indulge  the  wildest  rovings  of  thought,  and 
expatiate  in  the  vainest  reveries  of  an  undisciplined 
imagination.  Let  us  then  consider  the  several  prov- 
inces of  self-government.  And 

1.  The  government  of  the  thoughts.  After  all  that 
has  been  written  and  recommended  on  the  subject  of 
self-command,  the  regulation  of  the  thoughts  has 
seldom  drawn  the  attention  of  moralists.  The  imagi- 
nation is  supposed  to  be  a  faculty,  which  is  not  to  be 
controlled,  or  directed.  As  our  thoughts  cannot  be 
discerned  by  others,  nor  their  habitual  current  deter- 
mined by  exteriour  observation,  they  do  not  enter  into 
the  estimate  made  of  our  characters  by  the  world, 
and  are,  therefore,  unregarded  in  our  judgment  of 
ourselves.  On  the  authority  of  silly  maxims,  like 
these,  that  thought  is  free  as  air,  that  no  one  can  help 
what  he  thinks,  innumerable  hours  are  wasted  in  idle 
reveries,  without  the  hearing  of  censure  or  the  sus- 
picion of  blame.  But  when  we  consider,  how  great  a 
portion,  even  of  the  most  active  and  busy  life,  must 


205 

unavoidably  be  spent  in  thinking,  and  that  complete 
inactivity  is  a  state  of  mind  unknown,  even  to  the 
most  sluggish  of  our  race,  the  employment  of  the 
thoughts  rises  into  unexpected  importance,  and  con- 
stitutes no  inconsiderable  trait  of  character.  The 
time,  which  we  fondly  supposed  to  be  merely  wasted 
in  doing  nothing,  may  have  been  busily  employed  in 
mischievous  imaginations,  and  thus,  what  was  con- 
sidered as  lost  simply,  is  found  to  have  been  abused* 
When  we  reflect,  also,  that  every  licentious  princi* 
pie,  every  criminal  project,  and  every  atrocious  deed> 
is  the  fruit  of  a  distempered  fancy,  w  hose  rovings 
were  originally  unchecked,  till  thoughts  grew  into 
desires,  desires  ripened  into  resolves,  and  resolves 
terminated  in  execution,  well  may  we  tremble  at  dis- 
covering, how  feeble  is  the  control  over  our  imagina- 
tions, which  we  have  hitherto  acquired.  If  we  were 
asked,  in  the  solemn  language  of  the  prophet,  how 
long  shall  your  vain  thoughts  lodge  within  you,  few 
of  us,  it  is  feared,  could  return  a  satisfactory  answer. 

It  is,  indeed,  to  be  lamented,  that  our  rules  of  vice 
and  virtue  are  applied  so  seldom  to  what  passes  with- 
in ourselves.  Others  must  form  their  judgments  of 
us  from  our  actions  and  words  only,  but  not  so  should 
we  form  our  judgments  of  ourselves.  The  indul- 
gence of  a  loose  imagination  is  not  a  crime  cogniza- 
ble by  the  world,  till  it  has  betrayed  itself  in  conver- 
sation, in  writing,  or  in  action.  Thus,  what  others 
cannot  censure,  because  they  cannot  know,  we  forget 
to  estimate,  or  are  afraid  to  examine,  till  correction  is 
34 


266 


hopeless  and  impracticable.     To  suppress  a  rash 
speech,  or  curb  a  craving  appetite,  is  sometimes  at- 
tempted with  success ;  but  who  ever  thinks  of  check- 
ing a  rising  thought,  or  reining  in  a  headstrong  fan- 
cy ?  Who  voluntarily  draws  off  his  attention  from  a 
seducing  subject,  or  resolves  to  think  no  more  of  a 
favourite  project,  lest  his  imagination  should  lead  him 
astray,  lest  his  principles  should  be  polluted,  his  tem- 
per injured,  or  his  time  wasted?  Eat  out  of  the  heart, 
says  our  Saviour,  proceed  evil  thoughts,  murders, 
adulteries,  fornications,  thefts,  false- witness,  blasphe- 
mies.    At  the  head  of  this  formidable  enumeration 
are  placed  evil  thoughts,  the  invisible,  airy  precursors 
of  all  the  storms  and  tempests  of  the  soul ;  and  it 
would  be  no  less  absurd  to  use  no  precaution  against 
the  violence  of  the  wind,  because  its  motion  is  invisi- 
ble, than  to  take  no  care  of  our  thoughts,  because 
their  operations  are  unseen,  and  their  tenour  unmark- 
ed by  others. 

We  do  not  say,  that  he,  whose  head  teems  with 
foolish  fancies,  is  as  reprehensible,  as  he  who  vents 
his  folly  in  conversation,  or  who  spreads  it  over  the 
pages  of  a  book ;  or  that  he,  who  suffers  his  imagina- 
tion to  dwell  on  impure  ideas,  or  to  portray  licentious 
images,  is  guilty  of  a  crime,  as  heinous  as  that  of 
the  wretch,  who  endeavours  to  inflame  the  lusts,  or 
violate  the  purity  of  the  innocent.  We  do  not  say, 
that  Caesar,  brooding  over  his  schemes  of  ambition  in 
his  tent,  was  as  guilty  as  Caesar  passing  the  Rubicon, 
and  turning  his  arms  against  his  country  ;  but  we  do 


267 


say,  that  licentiousness  of  thought  ever  precedes  li- 
centiousness of  conduct ;  and  that  many  a  crime,  which 
stains  the  page  of  human  nature,  was  generated  in 
the  retirement  of  the  closet,  in  the  hours  of  idie  and 
listless  thought,  perhaps  over  the  pages  of  a  poison- 
ous book,  or  during  the  contemplation  of  a  licentious 
picture. 

The  hints,  which  we  have  now  suggested,  as  to  the 
importance  of  restraining  the  imagination,  cannot  be 
deemed  improper  in  an  age,  of  which  it  is  the  mis- 
fortune, to  be  inundated  with  books,  whose  smallest 
fault  is  their  stupidity,  and  whose  only  permanent 
influence,  where  they  have  any,  tends  to  pollute  all 
the  sources  of  reflection,  to  fill  the  fancy  with  figures 
unlike  any  thing  in  real  life,  the  understanding  with 
principles  inapplicable,  doubtful,  or  dangerous,  and 
the  heart  with  hopes,  that  it  would  be  folly  to  realize, 
with  wishes,  w  hich  it  would  be  ruin  to  gratify.  The 
imagination,  when  completely  distempered,  is  the 
most  incurable  of  all  disordered  faculties.  Watch, 
then,  its  first  wanderings,  and  remember,  that  you 
have  made  little  progress  in  the  government  of  your- 
selves, if  your  thoughts  disdain  your  control.  Re- 
member, also,  that,  when  the  thoughts  are  under  hab- 
itual restraint,  the  government  of  the  tongue,  the  ap- 
petites and  passions  easily  follows. 

2.  The  second  -branch  of  self-command  is,  the 
government  of  the  tongue.  If  any  man  offend  not  in 
word,  the  same  is  a  perfect  man.  This  will  not  ap- 
pear an  extravagant  assertion,  when  we  consider  how 


268 


numerous  are  the  vices,  in  which  this  little  member 
takes  an  active  part ;  that  it  is  this,  which  wearies  us 
with  garrulity,  defames  us  with  calumny,  deceives  us 
with  falsehood  ;  and  that,  but  for  this,  we  should  be  no 
more  offended  with  obsceneness,  shocked  with  oaths, 
or  overpowered  with  scandalous  abuse.  Well  might 
the  apostle  write,  if  any  man  among  you  seem  to  be 
religious,  and  bridleth  not  his  tongue,  that  man's  re- 
ligion is  vain. 

If  we  consider  these  vices  of  the  tongue  in  the  or- 
der of  their  enormity,  we  shall  see  how  easily  one 
generates  another.  Talkativeness,  the  venial  offspring 
of  a  lively,  not  to  say  an  unrestrained  fancy,  hardly 
rises  to  a  fault,  till  it  is  found,  that  he,  who  talks  in- 
cessantly, must  often  talk  foolishly,  and  that  the  prat- 
tle of  a  vain  and  itching  tongue  degenerates  rapidly 
into  that  foolish  talking  and  jesting,  which,  as  an 
apostle  says,  are  not  convenient.  Loquacity  is  for- 
ward and  assuming,  and  soon  becomes  tiresome. 
The  story,  a  thousand  times  told,  loses,  at  last,  its  hu- 
mour ;  and  a  jest,  a  thousand  times  repeated,  is  de- 
spoiled of  its  point,  and  palls  upon  the  ear.  Some- 
thing must  then  be  found  to  revive  flagging  attention ; 
and  what  is  so  universally  interesting  as  slander? 
The  faults  of  our  neighbour  are  then  dressed  up  in 
all  the  charms  of  exaggeration ;  and  the  interest  of  a 
description  is  found  to  be  amazingly  heightened  by  a 
stroke  of  ridicule,  or  a  tinge  of  sarcasm.  In  a  list- 
ening audience,  at  every  new  calumny  passed  upon 
another's  reputation,  some  one  is  found,  whose  fancied 


269 


credit  revives,  and  rises  on  its  ruins  in  all  the  lustre 
of  comparison.  The  tongue  then  riots  in  its  new 
privilege,  till,  at  length,  "  at  every  word  a  reputation 
dies."  All  this  may  be  done  without  deliberate  ma- 
lignity, and  without  violation  of  truth  ;  because,  to 
speak  evil  of  most  men,  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak 
falsehood,  and  to  pour  contempt  upon  another,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  hate  or  to  abhor  him.  Remember, 
then,  that  the  tongue  must  be  sometimes  restrained, 
even  in  uttering  truth.  To  justify  a  froward  mouth  by 
a  zeal  for  truth,  is  commonly  to  assign,  as  a  previous 
motive,  what  occurred  only  as  an  after  apology.  As 
we  may  flatter  by  an  unseasonable  and  lavish  expres- 
sion of  merited  approbation,  so  we  may  calumniate 
by  an  incautious  and  unrestrained  disclosure  of  real 
defects.  A  word  spoken  in  due  season,  how  good  is 
it ! — but  remember,  that  death  and  life  are  in  the  pow- 
er of  the  tongue,  and  the  tongue  of  the  wise  only 
useth  knowledge  aright.  Thus  far  the  unguarded 
talker,  we  observe,  may  have  proceeded  without  mis- 
representation, and  without  mischievous  intention ; 
but  he,  whose  vanity  has  been  long  flattered  by  the 
attention  of  an  audience,  will  not  easily  relinquish 
the  importance  he  has  acquired  in  particular  circles, 
or  see,  without  uneasiness,  that  interest  decline,  which 
his  company  has  been  accustomed  to  excite.  Hence, 
as  the  stock  of  scandalous  truths  is  exhausted,  fiction 
lends  her  aid  ;  and  he,  who  was  before  only  a  prater, 
a  jester,  or  a  tattler,  degenerates  into  a  liar,  who  en- 
tertains hy  falsehood,  and  a  calumniator,  who  lives 


270 


by  abuse ;  and  instances  are  not  unfrequent  of  men, 
whose  moral  sense,  by  a  process  similar  to  this,  has 
become  so  entirely  obscured  or  corrupted,  that  they 
will  utter  falsehoods  with  the  most  unconcious  rapidi- 
ty, and  the  most  unreflecting  indifference.  Such  are 
the  habits,  which  follow,  in  alarming  progression, 
from  an  unrestrained  indulgence  of  the  tongue.  Is 
not  the  danger  formidable  enough  to  induce  us  to  say, 
1  am  purposed,  that  my  mouth  shall  not  transgress  : 
1  will  take  heed  to  my  ways,  that  I  sin  not  with  my 
tongue. 

The  catalogue  of  sins  is  not  completed.  Impurity 
and  profaneness  are  not  far  behind.  The  first,  in- 
deed, bespeaks  such  grossness  of  vice,  and  the  latter, 
such  thoughtless  impiety,  that  we  presume  it  is  almost 
superfluous  to  denounce  them  in  this  state  of  society, 
and  from  this  place  of  religious  instruction.  If,  for 
every  idle,  unprofitable,  false  or  calumniating  word, 
w  hich  men  shall  speak,  they  shall  give  an  account 
in  the  day  of  judgment,  what  account  shall  those 
men  render,  whose  conversation  first  polluted  the 
pure  ear  of  childhood,  first  soiled  the  chastity  and 
whiteness  of  the  young  imagination,  whose  habitual 
oaths  first  taught  the  child  to  pronounce  the  name  of 
God  without  reverence,  or  to  imprecate  curses  on  his 
mates  with  all  the  thoughtlessness  of  youth,  but  with 
all  the  passion  and  boldness  of  manhood  ? 

Who  then  is  a  wise  man,  and  endued  with  knowl- 
edge among  you  ?  Let  him  show,  out  of  a  good  con- 
versation, his  wTords  with  meekness  of  wisdom ;  for 


271 

by  thy  words  shalt  thou  be  justified,  and  by  thy  words 
shalt  ihou  be  condemned. 

3.  We  proceed  to  the  third  branch  of  self-com- 
mand, the  government  of  the  animal  appetites.  Dear- 
ly beloved,  I  beseech  you,  abstain  from  fleshly  lusts, 
which  war  against  the  soul.  For  how  humiliating  is 
the  consideration,  enough,  indeed,  to  make  us  weep 
with  shame,  that  man,  the  noblest  work  of  God  on 
earth,  the  lord  of  this  lower  world,  whose  spirit  the 
pure  breath  of  omnipotence  breathed  forth,  whose  un- 
derstanding was  formed  to  grasp  at  unlimited  im- 
provement, and  enabled  to  rise,  and  purify,  and  spirit- 
ualize, as  it  enlarged — that  this  noble  creature  should 
suifer  himself  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  grovelling 
mob  of  appetites,  and  to  be  fettered  by  base  lusts, 
which  ought  to  be  his  slaves — that  this  ethereal  spir- 
it should  be  wasted  in  the  service  of  sensuality,  and 
this  intelligence,  capable  of  mounting  to  heaven,  be 
sunk  and  buried  in  the  slime  and  pollution  of  gross 
and  brutal  pleasures.  When  you  look  around  you, 
then,  and  see,  on  every  side,  how  vast  is  the  number 
of  immortal  souls,  chained  to  earth,  and  lost  to  heaven, 
how  deeply  deplorable  is  the  sight  ?  Will  you  di- 
rect your  observation  to  the  lower  classes  of  society  ? 
There  may  you  see  intemperance  boasting  of  its  vic- 
tims. You  see  limbs  enfeebled,  and  faculties  cloud- 
ed with  intoxication.  You  meet,  at  every  turn,  the 
ruins  of  robustness  ;  and  of  understanding  you  hardly 
discern  the  parting  vestiges.  Will  you  ascend  to  the 
rich  and  more  polished  classes  of  society  ?  You  see 


luxury  in  the  room  of  intemperance,  and  a  refined 
epicurism  taking  the  place  of  vulgar  sensuality.  In- 
stead of  intoxication,  stretched  on  a  pallet  of  straw, 
you  see  repletion,  reposing  on  a  bed  of  down.  In- 
stead of  an  appetite,  craving  for  its  burning  draught  of 
daily  poison,  you  see  a  fastidious  taste,  nicely  dis- 
criminating flavours,  and  pronouncing  upon  delica- 
cies, a  sated  palate,  longing  for  variety,  and  rejecting 
it,  as  soon  as  offered.    Instead  of  the  reeling  of  vul- 
gar drunkenness,  you  see  sluggish  bodies,  bloated  by 
habitual  excess,  or  else  pining  away  in  the  midst  of 
luxury  and  abundance,  till  sickness  imposes  too  late 
the  restraints,  which  reason  could  not  enforce,  or  sud- 
den death  snatches  his  gorged  and  swollen  victim 
from  the  very  table  of  his  revels. 

But  to  descant  on  the  evils  of  an  intemperate  indul- 
gence of  lust  and  appetite,  is,  perhaps,  useless.  In- 
stances are  numerous  within  every  one's  observation, 
and  admonitions  are  to  be  found  in  the  page  of  every 
moralist.  The  most  frequent  operation  of  unrestrain- 
ed desires  discovers  itself  in  an  inordinate  pursuit  of 
pleasure,  or  what  is,  with  great  significancy,  called, 
in  modern  times,  dissipation.  To  analyze  this  species 
of  pleasure,  is  almost  impossible.  It  is  the  well- 
known  tyrant  of  modern  society,  the  idol  of  restless 
and  unoccupied  minds.  The  inquiry  of  its  nume- 
rous votaries  is  not,  what  shall  we  eat,  or  what 
shall  we  drink,  but  wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed  ? 
Who  will  show  us  any  new  good  ?  Who  will  invent 
for  us  a  new  pleasure  ?  Who  will  rid  us  of  the  irk- 


£73 

some  task  of  thinking?  Who  will  snatch  us  from  the 
horrours  of  solitude,  and  the  pain  of  obscurity,  and 
kindly  transport  us  to  some  busy  scene  of  untried 
amusement  ?  This  disposition  for  perpetual  dissipa- 
tion, when  exhibited  in  its  excess,  may  be  called 
father  a  madness,  than  a  passion.  To  say,  that  its  un- 
happy votaries  are  lovers  of  pleasure,  more  than  lov- 
ers of  God,  seems  to  be  a  description,  which  falls  far 
short  of  the  extremity  of  their  case.  They  are  lovers 
of  pleasure,  which  has  no  definite  object ;  slaves  of 
restive  desires,  which  fix  on  nothing.  They  ex- 
hibit pitiable  spectacles  of  wishes  never  satisfied. 
They  stand  as  awful  examples  of  self-anarchy  and 
internal  misrule.  Their  thoughts,  their  time,  and 
even  their  passions,  are  lost  in  the  whirl  of  endless 
dissipation. 

4.  But  let  us  leave  these  mournful  examples  of  the 
degradation  of  our  nature,  and  proceed  to  the  last 
branch  of  self-command,  which  we  proposed  to  con- 
sider, the  government  of  the  passions.  Not  to  be  in 
a  passion,  is  generally  the  amount  of  the  notion,  which 
the  world  entertains  of  self-command.  But,  excellent 
as  is  this  attainment,  we  conceive,  that  it  embraces 
but  a  part  only  of  that  extensive  rule,  which  the 
christian  is  expected  to  maintain  over  his  own  spirit. 
In  the  broad  scheme  of  gospel  ethieks,  the  opposite 
to  anger  is  meekness  ;  and  meekness  is  no  narrow  or 
superficial  virtue.  It  is  a  grace,  which  receives  little 
of  the  applauses  of  the  world ;  a  grace,  which  Jesus 


S74 

alone  inculcated,  and  w  hich  no  philosopher  of  ancient 
times  seems  to  have  understood,  or  recommended. 

The  meek  man  of  the  gospel  is  the  very  reverse 
of  those,  who  act  the  most  bustling  and  noisy  part  on 
the  theatre  of  human  life.  He  finds  himself  in  a 
world,  where  he  will  be  oftener  called  to  suffer,  than 
to  act.  He  is  not  ambitious,  because  he  sees  little 
here  worth  ambition.  Humility  is  the  gentle  and  se- 
cret stream,  which  runs  through  his  life,  and  waters 
all  his  virtues.  To  the  government  of  the  passions, 
the  principal  prerequisite  is  the  restriction  of  the  de- 
sires ;  therefore,  as  he  expects  little  from  the  world, 
he  will  not  often  quarrel  with  it  for  the  treatment  he 
receives.  In  short,  the  meek  man  of  scripture  con- 
siders himself  placed  here,  not  in  a  state  of  enjoy- 
ment, but  of  trial ;  and  to  be  passionately  fond  of 
pleasures,  which  are  insecure,  or  to  be  passionately 
disturbed  at  injuries,  equally  transitory,  seems  to  him 
utterly  unworthy  of  a  being,  destined  soon  to  leave 
this  scene  of  rebuffs  and  disappointments,  and  capa- 
ble of  existing  forever  in  a  region  of  immortality  and 
peace.  Finding  himself,  at  present,  in  a  state  full  of 
jarring  elements,  and  of  violent  changes,  the  sunshine, 
which  is  frequently  interrupted  without  him,  he  en- 
deavours to  preserve  in  mild  lustre  within  his  own 
breast.  No  dark  clouds  of  discontent,  no  storms  and 
whirlwinds  of  passion  deform  the  serenity  of  his 
mind.  Where  others  are  transported,  he  is  calm  ; 
where  they  are  restless,  he  is  patient ;  where  they 


275 

arc  passion  ate,  rude  and  unforgiving,  he  is  mild, 
peaceable,  full  of  mercy,  and  reconciliation.  His 
control  of  his  passions  is  not  so  much  the  result  of 
any  present  and  strong  resolution,  as  of  the  general 
temper  of  his  mind.  When  he  is  reviled,  he  reviles 
not  again,  because  he  feels  no  disposition  to  revile. 
When  he  suffers,  he  threatens  not,  because  the  style 
of  threatening  is,  to  him,  an  unknown  tongue.  He  has 
been  accustomed  to  commit  his  cause  to  him,  that 
judgeth  righteously.  How  equable  is  the  career  of 
meekness  !  How  easily  sits  upon  the  meek  man  the 
government  of  his  passions  !  How  gracefully  does  he 
sway  his  sceptre  !  He  is  not  in  perpetual  danger  of 
suffering  from  excess,  he  is  not  obliged  unceasingly  to 
watch,  and  curb,  and  rein  in  a  wild  and  headstrong 
spirit ;  but  his  course  through  life,  is  gentle  and  se- 
cure, as  it  tends  to  that  peaceful  bourne,  where  he  will 
find  quietness  and  assurance  forever. 

How  unlike  this  the  spirit  of  the  times  !  How  little 
does  this  temper  consist  with  a  state  of  passions  in 
constant  turmoil,  with  provocations  ever  recurring,  and 
quarrels  hardly  appeased  ;  a  state  marked  with  inces- 
sant agitation  of  the  spirits,  and  feverish  sensibility  to 
injury  or  insult !  A  meek  man  in  this  world  of  our's  is 
hardly  acknowledged  by  his  species.  For  what  shall 
he  do  in  a  society,  w here  to  kindle  with  resentment, 
is  spirited  and  noble ;  and  to  retaliate  an  affront,  is 
the  dictate  of  honour?  What  shall  he  do  in  a  world 
of  restless  beings,  where  some  are  climbing  after  dan- 
gerous power  5  others  labouring  for  wealth,  which 


276 


never  satisfies  ;  others  dissolved  in  pleasure,  which 
gradually  destroys  ?  Where  shall  the  meek  pupil  of 
Jesus  hide,  in  this  bustle  of  contending  passions  and 
unrestrained  pursuits  ?  He  will  find,  alas,  that  this  is 
not  the  place  of  his  abode.  He  must  live  above  the 
world,  while  he  lives  in  it,  that  he  may  breathe  a 
purer  and  a  calmer  air.  From  this  elevated  retirement, 
look,  christian,  with  steadfast  eye  on  the  author  and 
finisher  of  your  faith.  He  was  not  of  the  world. 
And  why  ?  Not  because  he  was  in  the  form  of  God  ; 
but  because  he  could  assume  the  form  of  a  servant, 
and  wash  the  feet  of  his  disciples  ;  because  he  could 
refuse  the  offer  of  royalty,  bear  indignity  without  re- 
sentment, and  become  obedient  unto  death,  despising 
the  shame,  even  of  the  cross  itself.  Surely  it  is  little 
to  expect  of  the  servants  of  such  a  master,  that  they 
should  at  least  be  angry  and  sin  not,  that  they  should 
be  slow  to  speak  and  slow  to  wrath,  in  the  midst  of 
a  hasty  and  irritable  generation  ;  for  he  that  is  slow 
to  anger,  is  better  than  the  mighty,  and  he  that  ruleth 
his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city. 

Thus  have  we  attempted,  cursorily,  to  review  four 
branches  of  self-government,  the  control  of  the 
thoughts,  of  the  tongue,  of  the  appetites,  and  of  the 
passions.  We  have  seen,  that,  when  unrestrained, 
they  become  the  most  dangerous  of  tyrants.  We 
have  seen,  that  their  first  excesses  must  be  resisted, 
and  even  lawful  indulgences  denied  them,  if  we  would 
escape  being  brought  under  their  power. 


277 


But,  we  doubt  not,  it  will  be  said  by  those,  who 
have  never  thought  of  cheeking  a  wish,  or  controlling 
a  passion,  which  ever  arose  in  their  hearts,  that  the 
restrictions  we  impose  are  too  severe  ;  that  they  can- 
not be  maintained,  but  with  much  trouble  and  self- 
denial  5  and  that,  if  strictly  enforced,  they  would  sub- 
tract too  much  from  the  sum  of  human  enjoyment, 
during  the  hasty  term  of  a  frail  life.  To  attempt  to 
prove,  after  so  many  instructers,  philosophers  and  di- 
vines, that  no  substantial  enjoyment  is  lost,  nor  tha 
real  sum  of  sublunary  happiness  diminished  by  these 
salutary  restraints,  would  be  tedious,  if  it  wTere  not 
superfluous  ;  for,  to  show  the  misery  of  unrestrained 
indulgence,  we  have  only  to  ask,  what  can  exceed  in 
wretchedness  the  inquietude  of  the  revengeful,  the 
pains  and  diseases  of  the  sensualist,  the  perpetual 
wreariness  of  the  slave  of  dissipated  pleasures,  or  the 
gnawing  remorse  of  the  man,  who  has  indulged  him- 
self in  rash  and  bitter  speeches,  which  he  cannot 
retract. 

But  let  us  grant,  that  self-denial  is  as  painful,  as  it 
has  been  falsely  represented.  Let  us  grant,  that  the 
government  of  ourselves  is  a  work,  which  requires  un- 
interrupted labour  and  unpleasant  attention.  Is  this 
uttered  as  a  complaint  by  one,  who,  as  a  follower  of 
Jesus,  has  virtually  professed  to  deny  himself?  Are 
wTe  to  profess  the  most  pure  and  holy  religion,  which 
the  goodness  of  God  ever  granted  to  mortals,  without 
a  single  distinguishing  mark  of  our  privilege  ?  Shall 
all  the  religions,  which  imposture  and  superstition  have 


278 


in  every  age  established,  be  able  to  impose  penances, 
on  their  disciple,  to  encourage  mortifications  01  the 
flesh,  to  require  sacrifices  of  pleasure,  and  even  mar- 
tyrdom of  life  ;  and  cannot  the  system  of  the  gospel  lay 
a  restraint,  which  will  hold,  or  obtain  the  sacrifice  of 
a  passion,  a  lust,  or  a  pleasure,  worth  retaining  ?  It 
has  been  well  observed,  that,  "  if  Christianity  requires 
from  its  votaries  a  higher  degree  of  purity,  and  a  strict- 
er command  over  the  passions,  than  any  other  reli- 
gion, it  has  a  right  so  to  do  ;  because  it  affords  pro- 
portionably  greater  helps  towards  accomplishing  that 
great  work,  and  a  proportionably  greater  prize  to  re- 
compense the  labour.  For,  however  severe  this  strug- 
gle with  our  appetites  may  be  to  us,  and  severe 
enough,  God  knows,  it  sometimes  is,  yet  it  is  our  com- 
fort, that,  if  we  endure  to  the  end,  these  light  afflictions, 
which  are  but  for  a  moment,  shall  work  for  us  a  far 
more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.'** 

This  suggests  another  consideration  to  enforce  our 
subject.  Is  it  possible,  that  he  can  complain  of  the 
restraints,  which  Christianity  imposes,  who  has  ever 
heard  of  the  rewards,  which  it  promises  ?  How  elo- 
quent, upon  this  subject,  is  the  apostle  of  the  Gentiles  ! 
Know  ye  not,  says  he  to  the  Corinthians,  in  whose 
sight  w  ere  annually  exhibited  the  celebrated  Isthmian 
games,  know  ye  not,  that  they,  which  run  in  a  race, 
run  all,  but  one  receiveth  the  prize  ?  Even  in  these 
races,  every  man,  that  striveth  for  the  mastery,  is  tem- 
perate in  all  things.    Now  they  do  it  to  obtain  a  cor 

•  Bp.  Porteus,  Vol.  II.  p.  286. 


279 


ruptible  crown  ;  but  we,  an  incorruptible.  I,  there- 
fore, so  run,  not  as  uncertainly  ;  so  fight  I,  not  as  one 
that  beateth  the  air ;  but  I  keep  under  my  body,  and 
bring  it  into  subjection,  lest  that,  by  any  means,  when 
I  have  preached  to  others,  I  myself  should  be  a  cast- 
away. Pursuing,  then,  the  apostle's  reasoning,  let 
us  ask,  if  the  incorruptible  crown  of  heaven  is  to  be 
attained  without  an  effort,  or  is  unworthy  of  one? 
Are  the  pure  joys  of  a  future  state  to  he  grafted,  think 
you,  on  the  sensual  indulgences  of  the  present ;  and, 
while,  with  one  hand,  we  cling  to  the  delights  of  the 
world,  can  we  stretch  out  the  other,  and  lay  hold  of 
eternal  life?  It  is  absurd  and  impious  to  suppose, 
that  such  rewards  are  to  be  attained  without  a  sacri- 
fice ;  and  think  you,  that  you  can  merit  them  by  those 
petty  self-denials,  which  may,  perhaps,  have  forced 
themselves  upon  you  in  the  course  of  your  vocations  ? 
At  the  approach  of  indisposition,  you  may  have  sub- 
mitted to  short  restraints  upon  your  appetites  ;  in  obe- 
dience to  the  forms  of  polite  intercourse,  you  may  have 
controlled  your  boisterous  passions  ;  on  the  death  of  a 
friend,  you  may  have  slackened  your  career  of  dissi- 
pation ;  in  the  presence  of  a  superiour,  you  may  have 
suppressed  intemperate  language,  and  checked  the 
oath  just  escaping  from  your  lips.  And  for  these 
petty  victories  do  you  expect  the  wreath  of  honour  ? 
Are  these  the  afflictions,  which  are  to  w  ork  out  for 
you  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory  ? 
Indeed,  the  disproportion  is  too  serious.  God  grant, 
that,  when  we  have  offered  to  bear  the  cross  of  his  Son, 


280 


we  may  not  be  secretly  endeavouring  to  ease  ourselves 
of  its  weight. 

Finally,  my  friends,  those  of  you,  who  are  now  fight- 
ing manfully  the  good  fight  of  faith,  be  of  good  courage. 
The  contest  will  soon  be  over.  The  struggle  with 
passion,  though  here  not  completely  successful,  shall 
be  crowned  with  victory  hereafter  in  the  regions  of 
everlasting  peace,  where  no  insolence  affronts,  and  no 
revenge  pursues.  The  baser  appetites,  which,  even  in 
the  best  of  men,  sometimes  retain  an  unhallowed  force, 
shall  lose  their  office  in  a  world  inhabited  by  pure  in- 
telligences, and  their  power  in  bodies  refined  and 
spiritualized  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just.  The 
tongue,  that  unruly  member,  shall  not  wander  from 
the  praises  of  its  author ;  and  the  imagination  shall  be 
employed  on  those  subjects  of  celestial  contemplation, 
which  at  once  fill  and  surpass  the  conceptions  of  man, 
such  as  eye  hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard,  and  it 
hath  not  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive. 

God  grant,  that  we,  who  have  this  hope  in  us,  may 
purify  ourselves,  even  as  Grod  is  pure. 


SERMON  XVII. 


1  COR.  xi.  31, 

IF   WE   WOULD    JUDGE   OURSELVES,   WE    SHOULD   NOT  BE 
JUDGED. 

NO  action,  sentiment,  or  occurrence  is  presented 
to  the  human  mind,  on  which  it  forms  not  some  kind 
of  judgment.  The  multitude  of  objects,  over  which 
the  mind  ranges,  is  innumerable ;  and  the  extent  of 
human  comprehension,  though  not  infinite,  is  at  least 
undefinable.  All  that  earth,  air,  seas,  and  skies  con- 
tain, submit  themselves  to  man's  investigation.  The 
heavenly  bodies  appear  to  come  down,  and  offer  them- 
selves to  the  inspection  of  the  inhabitant  of  this  little 
planet ;  the  records  of  time  unrol  themselves  to  the 
observation  of  this  creature  of  threescore  years  ;  he 
looks  from  his  narrow  chamber  on  the  manners  and 
inhabitants  of  the  remotest  regions ;  nay  more,  he 
seems  to  explore  futurity,  to  converse  with  the  world 
of  spiritual  existences,  and  ascend  in  contemplation  to 
the  throne  of  God.  In  this  mighty  range  of  thought, 
next  to  that  great  Being,  who  fills,  embraces,  and 
sustains  the  whole,  the  most  interesting  object  of 
36 


282 

speculation  is  the  human  mind ;  and  to  every  individ- 
ual, his  own  mind  is  an  object,  in  comparison  with 
which  every  other  is  unimportant.  But  the  knowl- 
edge of  one's  self,  though  so  interesting,  is  not  an 
easy  acquisition  ;  and  to  pass  a  strictly  unbiassed 
judgment  on  our  own  character,  is  an  act  of  impar- 
tiality, of  which  the  records  of  the  human  mind  never 
have  furnished,  and,  probably,  never  will  furnish  an 
example. 

The  duty  of  self-knowledge  is  one  of  those  few, 
Which  the  heathens  estimated  according  to  its  impor- 
tance. To  the  precept,  know  thyself,  they  ascribed, 
with  no  great  propriety,  a  heavenly  origin  ;  for  there 
is  no  one,  whose  utility  unassisted  reason  sooner  dis- 
covers. The  passages,  also,  in  scripture,  which  urge 
this  personal  virtue,  are  numerous,  pointed,  weighty. 
We  are  taught  its  value,  sometimes  by  direct  injunc- 
tion, sometimes  by  interesting  narrative  ;  we  gather 
it,  in  one  place,  from  the  prayers  of  the  pious ;  in  an- 
other, from  their  expressions  of  regret;  and  in  another, 
from  the  examples  of  their  presumptuous  confidence. 
When  we  read  the  parable  of  the  ewe  lamb,  by  which 
the  holy  prophet  taught  the  monarch  of  Israel  the 
enormity  of  his  guilt,  w  ho  marks  not  the  wretched 
blindness  of  the  royal  scholar,  who  suspected  not  his 
own  character,  till  the  fearless  Nathan  exclaimed, 
Thou  art  the  man  ?  Hear,  too,  the  aspiring  Hazael, 
when  the  prophet  warned  him  of  his  guilty  usurpa- 
tion :  Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  says  he,  that  he  should 
do  this  ?  Who  weeps  not,  too,  when  he  finds  the  ar- 


283 


dent,  but  too  confident,  Peter,  declaring,  Though  I 
should  die  with  thee,  yet  will  I  not  deny  thee  ?  Yes, 
Peter,  you  will  deny  him  once,  twice,  thrice,  even 
within  the  reach  of  that  eye,  which,  while  it  tells 
you,  that  you  are  forgiven,  teaches  you  more  of  your- 
self, than  you  ever  yet  have  known. 

If  we  would  judge  ourselves,  we  should  not  be 
judged.  Let  us  consider  the  difficulty,  the  advan- 
tages, and  the  means  of  forming  a  correct  estimate  of 
ourselves.  The  portions  of  our  character,  which  it 
most  concerns  us  to  understand  aright,  are,  the  extent 
of  our  powers,  and  the  motives  of  our  conduct.  But, 
on  these  subjects,  every  thing  conspires  to  deceive  us. 
No  man,  in  the  first  place,  can  come  to  the  examina- 
tion of  himself  with  perfect  impartiality.  His  wishes 
are  all  necessarily  engaged  on  his  own  side  ;  and 
though  he  may  place  the  weights  in  the  balance  with 
perfect  fairness  and  accuracy,  he  places  them  in  scales 
unequally  adjusted.  He  is,  at  once,  the  criminal,  the 
accuser,  the  advocate,  the  witness,  and  the  ju:lge. 

Another  difficulty,  which  prevents  our  passing  a 
correct  judgment  on  our  own  characters,  is,  that  we 
can  always  find  excuses  for  ourselves,  which  no  other 
person  can  suspect.  The  idea  of  possessing  an  ex- 
cuse, which  it  would  be  improper  to  communicate  to 
others,  is  consolatory  beyond  expression.  Frivolous 
as  the  apology  may  be,  it  appears  satisfactory,  be- 
cause, while  no  one  knows  its  existence,  no  one  can 
dispute  its  value.  From  repeated  failures  in  any  un- 
dertaking few  men  learn  their  own  incapacity :  be- 


284 


cause  success  depends  upon  such  a  concurrence  of 
circumstances,  minute  as  they  are  numerous,  that  it  is 
much  easier  to  lament  the  blameless  omission  of  some- 
thing, which  would  have  ensured  success,   than  to 
look  full  in  the  face  our  own  deficiencies.    It  is  the 
same  with  the  opinions  we  form  of  our  moral  worth. 
The  motives,  which  cooperate  in  producing  almost 
every  action,  are  so  various  and  almost  impercepti- 
ble, that,  in  contemplating  our  conduct,  we  can  select 
those  that  are  honourable,  and  assign  them  that  in- 
fluence afterwards,  which  they  ought  to  have  had 
before.    By  frequently  defending,  also,  the  purity  of 
our  motives,  we  learn,  at  last,  to  believe,  that  they 
are  precisely  what  they  ought  to  be ;  and  mistake 
the  eloquence  of  self-apology  for  the  animation  of 
conscious  integrity. 

Another,  and  very  essential  cause^  of  our  ignorance 
of  ourselves,  is,  that  few  men  venture  to  inform  us  of 
our  real  character.  We  are  flattered,  even  from  our 
cradles.  The  caresses  of  parents,  and  the  blandish- 
ments of  friends,  transmute  us  into  idols.  A  man 
must  buffet  long  with  the  world,  ere  he  learns  to  esti- 
mate himself,  according  to  his  real  importance  in  so- 
ciety. He  is  obliged  to  unlearn  much  of  what  he  has 
been  told  by  those,  who,  in  flattering  him,  have  long 
been  used  to  flatter  themselves.  And  when,  at  last, 
lie  learns  to  compare  himself  with  others,  to  correct 
his  false  estimates,  and  to  acquiesce  in  the  rank, 
which  society  assigns  him,  he  is  assisted,  not  by  the 
kind  admonitions  of  friends,  not  by  the  instructions 


285 


of  those,  who  take  an  affectionate  interest  in  his  char- 
acter ;  but  he  must  gather  it  from  the  cold  indifference 
of  some,  from  the  contempt  and  scorn  of  others ;  he 
must  be  taught  it  by  the  bitterness  of  disappointment, 
and  the  rudeness  of  superiority,  or  the  smiles  of  exult- 
ing malice. 

This  leads  us  to  the  last  difficulty,  which  we  shall 
mention,  as  preventing  our  forming  a  correct  estimate 
of  our  own  characters.  We  fondly  imagine,  that  no 
one  can  know  us  as  well,  as  we  know  ourselves  ;  and 
that  every  man  is  interested  to  depreciate,  even  when 
he  knows,  the  worth  of  another.  Hence,  when  re- 
proved, we  cannot  admit,  that  Ave  have  acted  amiss. 
It  is  much  more  easy  to  conclude,  that  we  have  been 
misrepresented  by  envy,  or  misunderstood  by  preju- 
dice, than  to  believe  in  our  ignorance,  incapacity,  or 
guilt.  Nothing,  also,  more  directly  tends  to  swell 
into  extravagance  a  man's  opinion  of  his  moral  or  in- 
tellectual worth,  than  to  find,  that  his  innocence  has, 
in  any  instance,  been  falsely  accused,  or  his  powers 
inadequately  estimated.  In  short,  unless  a  person 
has  been  long  accustomed  to  compare  himself  with 
others,  to  scrutinize  the  motives  of  his  conduct,  to 
meditate  on  the  occurrences  of  his  life,  to  listen  to, 
nay,  evea  to  court  the  admonitions  of  the  wise  and 
good,  and  to  hearken  to  the  language  of  calumny  it- 
self, he  may  pass  through  life  intimate  with  every 
heart,  but  that  which  beats  in  his  own  bosom,  a 
stranger  in  no  mansion  so  much  as  his  own  breast. 


286 


Notwithstanding  the  difficulties,  which  oppose 
themselves  to  the  forming  of  an  impartial  judgment 
of  ourselves,  a  good  degree  of  self-knowledge,  how- 
ever, is  not  unattainable.  When  we  shall  have  con- 
sidered, secondly,  its  advantages,  perhaps  we  shall 
be  encouraged  to  enter  with  vigour  on  this  new  course 
of  study.  You  may,  at  first,  find  the  investigation 
difficult.  You  will,  no  doubt,  make  many  unpleasant 
discoveries.  Entering  on  a  region,  which  you  have 
never  explored,  a  full  prospect  of  your  heart,  if  it 
could  be  presented  at  one  view,  must  surprize  and 
appal  you.  But  proceeding,  step  by  step,  in  the  sur- 
vey, though  you  will  find,  at  first,  many  dark  and 
narrow  defiles,  many  hidden  and  dangerous  pit-falls, 
many  spectacles  of  unexpected  deformity,  yet,  if  you 
regularly,  carefully,  and  perseveringly  pursue  the 
investigation  of  yourself,  the  prospect  will,  at  last, 
brighten,  the  region  will  become  more  open  and  level, 
and  your  progress,  at  last,  smooth,  easy,  and  delight- 
ful. To  encourage  you,  then,  in  this  inspection  of 
yourselves,  we  observe, 

1.  That  an  intimate  knowledge  of  ourselves  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  security  and  improve- 
ment of  our  virtue  and  holiness.  It  is  true,  that 
a  good  man  may  be  ignorant  of  his  own  comparative 
worth ;  but  no  good  man  is  ignorant  of  his  own  ab- 
solute defects.  He,  who  is  unacquainted  with  those 
portions  of  his  character,  in  which  reformation  is  most 
needed,  will  never  make  any  progress  in  virtue,  for 


287 


empty  wishes  and  indefinite  desires  of  improvement 
alone  cannot  make  us  better.  To  be  stationary  in  re- 
ligion, morals,  knowledge  or  capacity  is  impossible  ; 
and  the  character,  which  does  not  improve,  will  infal- 
libly degenerate.  If,  then,  you  would  secure  the  con- 
quests, which,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  you  may 
have  already  attained  over  the  enemies  of  your  vir- 
tue, you  must  endeavour  to  place  a  guard  at  every 
gate,  a  sentinel  in  every  watch-tower ;  you  must  visit 
all  the  weak  places  of  your  hearts,  mark  them,  and 
place  there  a  stronger  force  ;  you  must  be  aware  of  ev- 
ery stratagem,  and  watchful  of  every  symptom  of  de- 
fection, or  remissness, 

2.  The  knowledge  of  ourselves  would  preserve  us 
from  much  of  the  calumny,  the  censure,  and  the  con- 
tempt of  others.  If  we  would  judge  ourselves,  we 
should  not  be  judged.  When  we  look  round  upon 
the  judgments  of  men,  we  shall  find,  that  most  of  the 
severity,  ridicule,  and  reproach  of  the  world  is  be- 
stowed upon  what  are  called  follies,  rather  than  upon 
vices.  We  laugh  at  vanity,  oftener  than  Ave  censure 
pride.  We  condemn  mistakes  with  asperity,  where 
we  pass  over  sins  with  gentleness.  Conceited  igno- 
rance, ostentatious  parade,  blind  zeal,  and  glaring  ab- 
surdity are  treated  by  the  world  at  large  with  great- 
er severity,  than  open  profligacy,  sensuality,  and  crime. 
Against  the  contempt,  which  pursues  such  qualities, 
self-knowledge  will  effectually  guard  us.  He,  who 
thinks  himself  to  be  something,  when  he  is  nothing,  de- 
ceiveth  himself,  says  the  apostle  ;  he  deceives  not  oth- 


288 


ers.  But  he,  who  thinks  of  himself  soberly,  even  as  he 
ought  to  think,  will  seldom  be  mortified  by  the  eon- 
tempt,  or  degraded  by  the  derision  of  the  publick. 

3.  A  man,  who  knows  himself,  will  know  more  of 
others,  than  one  who  boasts  of  studying  mankind  by 
mixing  with  all  their  follies  and  vices.  Man  has 
often  been  termed  a  little  world,  a  world  in  miniature  ; 
and  every  individual  is  an  epitome,  perhaps,  of  the  so- 
ciety, in  which  lie  lives.  In  general,  we  are  impelled 
by  similar  passions,  and  occasionally  engaged  in  sim- 
ilar pursuits.  The  same  temptations  assail,  the  same 
artifices  deceive,  the  same  motives  impel  us,  though 
with  various  success,  and  unequal  repetition.  He, 
who  has  been  accustomed  to  watch  the  motions  of  his 
own  mind,  and  to  scrutinize  the  character  of  his  own 
actions,  will,  in  general,  judge  with  more  justice,  and 
always  with  more  candour,  of  the  conduct  of  others, 
than  any  of  those,  who  value  themselves  on  their  knowl- 
edge of  life.  There  is  something,  which  passes  in  the 
world  for  penetration  and  sagacity,  which  consists  in 
always  finding  fault,  where  fault  maybe  found;  in  sus- 
pecting baseness,  when  integrity  is  not  clear  ;  in  con- 
demning without  scruple,  where  others  hesitate  to  de- 
cide ;  and  in  predicting  the  worst,  when  the  prudent 
doubt,  or  the  timid  are  alarmed.  But  the  man,  who 
knows  himself,  will  be  ready  to  pardon  mistakes,  to 
conceal  absurdities,  to  inform  ignorance,  to  pity  folly, 
and  to  account,  at  least,  for  vices,  w  hich  he  cannot  ex- 
cuse. When  he  censures,  he  censures  qualities  in 
others,  which  he  has  not  failed  to  reproach  in  himself : 


289 


and  when  he  applauds,  he  applauds  what  he  knows 
how  to  value,  either  from  the  struggles,  which  it  has 
cost  him  to  acquire  it,  or  from  the  wretchedness,  which 
he  suffers  from  its  absence.  He  will  not  strike  with- 
out mercy,  who  feels  himself  the  tingling  of  every 
stroke.  It  is  ignorance  of  ourselves  only,  which 
makes  us  the  libellers,  or  the  self-constituted  judges 
of  others. 

4.  Self-knowledge  will  preserve  us  from  being  de- 
ceived by  flattery,  or  overborne  by  unmerited  censure. 
The  language  of  adulation  sounds  in  the  ears  of  a  man, 
who  knows  himself,  like  the  language  of  reproach. 
He  receives  it,  as  a  gentle  admonition  of  what  he  ought 
to  be,  rather  than  as  a  description  of  what  he  is.  He 
is  humbled,  rather  than  elated  by  extravagant  praise  ; 
and  is  disposed  to  pity  the  ignorance,  or  suspect  the 
designs  of  the  man,  who,  whenever  he  approaches 
him,  holds  out  a  compliment,  or  whispers  an  encomi- 
um.   Even  when  he  is  sensible,  that,  in  any  instance, 
he  merits  approbation,  yet,  when  he  considers  his  in- 
numerable deficiencies,  failings,  wants,  unknown  to 
all  but  himself,  the  praise,  which  lie  receives,  seems 
to  him  to  have  little  more  foundation,  than  the  enthu- 
siastick  anticipations,  which  travellers  sometimes  ex- 
press of  a  country,  which  they  have  never  seen,  w  here 
they  expect  a  cloudless  sky,  a  temperate  climate,  a 
luxuriant  soil,  a  happy  people  ;  but,  upon  exploring 
which,  they  find  the  same  vicissitudes  of  weather,  as 
at  home,  similar  ravages  of  disease,  similar  miseries 
of  poverty,  and  equal,  though  different  vices,  prejudices 
37 


290 


and  defects  of  society.  The  man,  too,  who  knows 
himself,  learns  to  bear  reproach.  If  he  •knows,  that 
it  is  merited,  he  is  silent,  but  suffers  not  the  oppor- 
tunity of  improvement  to  escape  him.  He  puts  on  no 
empty  airs  of  resentment,  or  affected  surprize.  If  it 
is  unmerited,  he  can  look  up,  with  humble  eye,  to 
heaven,  and  say,  My  record  is  on  high ;  or,  if  he 
suspects  himself,  he  will  ask,  like  the  anxious  disci- 
ples, Lord,  is  it  I? 

5.  He,  w  ho  examines  himself,  will  learn  to  profit  by 
instruction.  Philosophy  and  revelation,  moralists  and 
friends,  the  press  and  the  pulpit,  are  perpetually  hold- 
ing up  characters  for  our  detestation,  and  yet  we  prof- 
it not  by  the  picture,  we  see  not  the  resemblance,  till 
some  Nathan,  bolder  than  the  rest,  exclaims,  Thou 
art  the  man.  Then  we  turn  round  in  surprise,  and 
wonder  at  the  insolence  of  the  prophet.  We  attend 
upon  the  publick  institutions  of  religion.  The  preach- 
er portrays  a  character.  We  listen  and  admire.  We 
recall  the  picture.  What  prominence  of  figure  ;  what 
liveliness  of  expression  ;  w  hat  strength  of  colouring  ! 
We  are  asked,  for  whom  it  was  intended.  In  a  mo- 
ment we  answer,  it  is  this  man.  Hoes  it  resemble 
no  other  ?  Yes.  And  we  instantly  point,  with  much 
complacency,  to  a  second,  and  a  third,  and  then  sit 
down  in  unsuspecting  possession  of  the  original.  O 
Lord,  examine  me,  and  prove  me,  try  my  reins  and 
my  heart  ;  and  that  which  I  see  not,  teach  thou  me. 

Lastly,  if  we  will  judge  ourselves,  we  shall  not 
be  judged,  at  least,  by  the  Judge  of  heaven  and 


291 


earth  ;  that  is,  we  shall  not  be  unprepared  for  the 
judgment  seat  of  Christ.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine 
a  more  solemn  and  yet  miserable  object,  than  a  pre- 
sumptuous, unreflecting,  thoughtless  man,  standing  at 
the  bar  of  God.  All  the  gay  and  gaudy  trappings  of 
self- applause  fall  off,  and  leave  a  poor,  miserable, 
naked  and  shrivelled  body  of  worthlessness,  deprav- 
ity and  folly.  He  turns  from  the  view  of  his  own 
deformity  ;  he  shrinks  in  vain  to  avoid  the  eye  of  om- 
niscience. He  thought  himself  innocent.  Guilty  of 
few  open  vices,  he  passed  through  the  world  unre- 
proached.  He  now  sees,  that  his  innocence  was  noth- 
ing but  inaction  ;  and  that  he  was  unreproached,  be- 
cause unknown  or  despised.  He  thought  himself 
pious  ;  he  finds,  that  he  has  been  only  a  formal  re- 
peater of  solemn  words.  He  thought  himself  tempe- 
rate ;  he  finds,  that  he  was  often  a  cowardly  venturer 
to  the  brink  of  excess,  whence  the  danger  of  his  health 
only  called  him.  He  thought  himself  just ;  but  he 
sees,  that  he  has  been  unequitable  within  the  limit  of 
the  law.  He  thought  himself  charitable  ;  but  finds, 
he  never  made  a  disinterested  sacrifice ;  hospitable, 
but  he  was  only  ostentatious  ;  compassionate,  but  he 
was  only  childish.  He  thought  himself  zealous  for 
truth,  but  he  finds  it  was  only  for  system ;  patriotick, 
but  he  was  only  a  partizan  ;  forgiving,  but  he  was 
only  cowardly.  Think,  then,  can  you  bear  to  be 
stripped  hereafter  of  so  many  fancied  excellencies  ? 
Are  you  ready  now  to  submit  your  motives  to  the 
eye  of  omniscience  ?  Have  you  ever  ventured  to  look 


293 


with  a  steady  eye  into  your  own  hearts  ?  Dare  you 
read  to  the  bottom  of  the  page  ?  Are  you  not  afraid 
to  find  there  the  sentence  of  your  condemnation  ?  Do 
you  know  what  manner  of  spirit  you  are  of? 

The  time  will  not  allow  us  to  consider,  minutely, 
the  means,  by  which  this  knowledge  may  be  attained. 
A  few  general  precepts  must  conclude.  First,  then, 
suspect  yourselves.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  doing  your- 
selves injustice.  When  you  suspect,  watch  your 
conduct ;  and  detect,  if  you  can,  your  predominant 
motives.  Depend  upon  it,  you  will  struggle  hard  to 
deceive  yourselves.  Compare  yourselves,  then,  with 
the  word  of  God,  and  with  one  another.  Recollect, 
that  what  appears  disgraceful  in  others,  cannot  be 
honourable  in  you  ;  and  what  diminishes  your  esteem 
of  them,  ought  to  diminish  your  esteem  of  yourself. 
Find,  if  you  can,  some  disinterested  and  sensible 
friend,  who  will  have  the  courage  to  disclose  to  you 
your  faults,  and  the  goodness  to  assist  you  in  correct- 
ing  them.  But,  above  all,  look  up  to  the  Father  of 
lights,  lay  yourself  open  to  the  eye  of  almighty  mer- 
cy, and  cry,  Lord,  who  can  understand  his  errours  ? 
cleanse  thou  me  from  secret  faults. 


SERMON  XVIII. 


EPH.  ii.  5. 

BY   GRACE  YE  ARE  SAVED. 

THIS  simple  proposition,  though  often  in  the 
mouth  of  christians,  is  yet  not  without  its  difficulties. 
Every  believer  in  the  gospel  acknowledges  its  truth  ; 
and  yet  there  are  very  few  men,  who  would  entirely 
coincide  in  their  interpretation  of  the  passage. 

It  is  not  to  excite  your  surprise,  that  we  shall  now 
proceed  to  enumerate  some  of  the  most  popular  senses, 
in  which  this  proposition  has  been  understood,  but 
only  to  guard  you  against  being  carried  away  by 
the  dogmatical  assertions  of  men,  who  are  contented 
with  detaching  a  form  of  scripture  words  from  the 
place  where  it  is  found,  and  insisting,  that  it  means 
only  what  they  choose  to  understand  by  the  phrase. 

What  then  is  the  meaning  of  grace  ?  When  spoken 
of  God,  it  means  simply,  gratuitous  kindness,  and 
thus  is  it  often  applied  to  any  thing,  in  which  his  fa- 
vour is  discovered.  Thus  the  gospel  is  called  the 
grace  of  God.  The  terms  saved,  or  salvation,  origi- 
nally mean  deliverance  from  danger,  from  disease, 


394 

©r  evil  of  any  kind,  and  hence,  are  often  used  with  a 
latitude,  which  embraces  all  the  benefits,  derived  from 
the  introduction  of  the  gospel,  whether  relating  to 
this  life  or  the  next,  including  of  course  the  healing 
of  the  mind,  and  deliverance  from  the  power  and 
consequences  of  sin. 

The  following  are  some  of  the  interpretations,  which 
the  clause  in  our  text  has  received. 

1.  There  are  many,  who  understand  by  the  propo- 
sition, by  grace  are  ye  saved,  that  man  can  do  noth- 
ing towards  his  own  salvation.  By  grace,  they  un- 
derstand a  supernatural  operation  of  the  divine  spirit, 
which  effects  a  change  in  the  moral  nature  of  a  man, 
toward  which  his  own  exertions  contribute  nothing ; 
and  where  this  change  is  effected,  salvation  is  certain, 
and  thus  God  is  not  only  the  ultimate  source,  but 
the  sole  and  immediate  agent  in  the  production  of 
goodness  in  moral  beings. 

This,  in  technical  language,  is  the  doctrine  of  hu- 
man inability.  It  represents  the  moral  state  of  man 
to  be  such,  that  he  can  do  nothing  to  save  himself 
from  ruin  ;  for,  if  it  were  otherwise,  his  salvation,  it 
is  said,  would  not  be  of  God,  but  of  himself. 

In  this  statement,  it  is  obvious  to  remark,  that 
though  there  is  a  sense,  and  a  very  just  one,  in  which 
man  can  do  nothing  without  God,  it  cannot  be  re- 
garded as  any  derogation  from  the  grace  or  glory  of 
God,  to  admit,  that  man  can  do  all,  that  God  enables 
him  to  do.  God  governs  and  treats  his  moral  crea- 
tures in  a   moral  way  y  and  it  would  seem  to  be 


295 


I 


charging  God  with  folly  or  contradiction,  to  say  that 
he  offers  men  means  and  motives  to  virtue,  while  he 
has  provided  them  with  no  capacity  to  use  the  one,  and 
no  susceptibility  of  the  influence  of  the  other,  without 
his  own  immediate  and  extraordinary  operation.  To  a 
plain  man,  there  is  no  greater  mystery  in  our  depen- 
dence on  God,  in  the  affair  of  religion,  than  in  any  oth- 
er. We  are  to  be  saved,  indeed,  by  grace,  as  by  grace 
we  are,  every  moment,  preserved  from  natural  and 
moral  ruin ;  that  is,  by  the  goodness  of  him,  who  gives 
us  our  powers,  and  appoints  us  our  circumstances. 

Others,  on  the  contrary,  to  avoid  the  perversion,  to 
which  the  interpretation  just  stated  is  exposed,  and  by 
which  Christianity  has  suffered,  think,  that  they  suffi- 
ciently answer  the  meaning  of  the  apostle,  when  they 
admit,  that  man  is  not  saved,  either  by  his  own  exer- 
tions, or  by  the  operations  of  divine  grace  alone,  but  by 
the  concurrence  or  cooperation  of  God's  spirit  with  hu- 
man endeavours.  Thus  they  suppose,  that  grace,  by 
which  they  mean  spiritual  influence,  is  communicated 
to  all  good  men,  in  answer  to  prayer,  or  in  conse- 
quence of  human  endeavours,  and  especially  in  sea- 
sons of  great  temptation,  trial,  necessity,  or  peculiar 
infirmity ;  and  yet  always  in  such  a  silent  manner,  as 
not  to  be  distinguished  from  the  natural  operations, 
or  ordinary  state  of  our  minds.  Thus,  say  they,  we 
are  truly  saved  by  grace,  because,  if  left  to  ourselves, 
we  could  not  work  out  our  salvation,  but  should,  in- 
fallibly, sink  in  the  arduous  undertaking.  In  this 
way  they  propose  to  avoid  the  difficulties,  attending 


296 


the  doctrines  of  human  merit  or  ability  on  the  one 
hand,  and  those  of  human  inability  and  irresistible 
grace  on  the  other  ;  while  their  adversaries  say,  that 
they  only  unite,  in  one  unintelligible  scheme,  the  real 
difficulties  of  both.  Perhaps  the  principal  advan- 
tage of  this  mode  of  interpretation  is,  that  it  seems  to 
allow  sufficient  meaning  for  the  various  phraseology 
of  different  passages  of  scripture,  while  it  leaves  the 
real  metaphysical  difficulty  of  man's  dependence  and 
activity  as  inexplicable  as  ever,  and  as  much  open 
as  before  to  the  disputations  of  those,  who  wish  to 
penetrate  into  the  secrets  of  the  divine  influence  on 
moral  agents. 

There  is  yet  another  class  of  christians,  who  con- 
ceive, that  men  are  said  to  be  saved  by  grace,  because 
the  introduction  of  the  christian  religion,  by  which 
men  are  prepared  for  salvation,  or  a  state  of  future 
happiness,  is  a  singular  instance  of  the  grace  or  un- 
deserved favour  of  God.  It  is  a  proof  of  his  care,  to 
which  mankind  had  no  claim,  and  of  which  they  had 
no  previous  desert.  It  was  God's  grace  or  favour 
only,  which  originally  appointed  Jesus  the  mediator, 
and  sent  him  into  the  world ;  it  is  God's  gratuitous 
or  unmerited  kindness,  which  provides  the  means  of 
reformation  and  recovery  offered  us  by  Christianity, 
which  gives  the  promise  of  pardon  to  the  penitent, 
establishes  the  hopes  and  wishes  of  immortal  life. 
It  is  in  consequence  of  God's  favour,  that  we  are  born 
under  this  dispensation  ;  and  if  we  attain,  at  last,  to 
the  salvation,  which  it  offers  us,  by  grace  only  do  we 


297 


reach  this  felicity,  because  it  is  pure  goodness*  which 
originally  furnished  the  means. 

In  all  these  interpretations  of  the  clause,  by  grace 
ye  are  saved,  you  may  have  observed,  that  it  is  taken 
for  granted,  by  the  different  parties,  that  the  apostle 
refers  to  the  final  salvation  of  those,  to  whom  he  is 
writing  ;  but  it  is  at  least  doubtful,  whether  this  is 
here  the  meaning  of  the  apostle.  You  well  know, 
that  the  term,  saved,  is  used  to  express  any  kind  of 
deliverance,  temporal  or  eternal ;  salvation  from  dan- 
ger, from  disease,  from  miseries  of  various  kinds, 
from  intellectual  darkness,  from  doubt  or  despair, 
from  habitual  corruption,  from  present  condemnation, 
and  from  everlasting  punishment.  When  Peter,  in 
the  name  of  the  apostles,  cries  out,  in  the  midst  of  a 
storm,  Lord  save  us,  for  we  are  perishing,  every  one 
understands  him  to  mean,  deliverance  from  the  imme- 
diate danger  of  shipwreck.  When  our  Saviour  dis- 
covers in  the  sick  woman  a  remarkable  confidence  in 
his  power  of  curing  her,  and  other  dispositions  wor- 
thy of  his  favour,  and  says  to  her.  Go  in  peace,  thy 
faith  hath  saved  thee,  no  one  imagines  him  to  mean 
any  thing  more  than  this,  to  your  faith  you  owe  the 
recovery  of  your  health.  So  when  the  jailer,  alarm- 
ed by  the  earthquake,  and  fearful  that  his  prisoners 
had  escaped,  rushed  into  the  presence  of  the  apos- 
tles, crying  out,  Sirs,  what  shall  I  do  to  be  saved? 
the  best  interpreters  understand  him  to  mean,  how 
shall  I  best  consult  my  safety  ;  and  when  Paul  says 
in  reply.  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  you 
38 


298 


and  your  family  shall  be  saved,  he  not  only  includes 
the  idea  of  present  security,  but  extends  the  meaning 
of  the  word  to  embrace  the  spiritual  benefits,  which 
w  ould  follow  from  his  reception  of  the  christian  doc- 
trine. 

If  now  we  examine  the  meaning  of  the  apostle  in 
the  clause  before  us,  we  shall  find,  that  he  cannot  here 
refer  to  the  eternal  salvation  of  those,  to  whom  he  is 
writing.  He  says  of  them,  that  they  are  now  saved, 
not  that  they  will  be  saved  hereafter.  Here  is  ac- 
tual and  present  privilege,  and  not  the  unconditional 
promise  of  a  future  benefit.  That  the  Ephesians  had 
not  then  entered  upon  the  heavenly  felicity,  it  is  un- 
necessary to  prove  ;  they  could  not,  therefore,  be  then 
saved,  in  the  sense,  in  which  we  commonly  use  the 
term.  Neither  is  it  probable,  that  the  apostle  meant, 
they  had  been  made  subjects  of  an  irresistible  and  ef- 
fectual grace,  from  which  they  could  never  fall ;  that 
their  final  salvation  was  as  certain,  as  if  they  had  ac- 
tually entered  upon  it ;  for  though  we  may  believe, 
that  there  would  not  be  an  impropriety  in  figuratively 
saying,  that  they  were  saved,  who  had  only  an  infal- 
lible security  of  being  saved,  yet  we  cannot  find,  that 
this  was  the  idea  of  the  apostle,  or  of  the  early  in- 
terpreters, but  only  a  fiction  of  later  theologians, 
No  !  the  apostle's  meaning  cannot,  perhaps,  be  more 
exactly  expressed  in  English,  than  in  these  words, 
by  God's  unmerited  favour  are  ye  delivered.  If  it  is 
asked,  from  what  the  Ephesians  were  delivered  by 
Ihe  grace  of  God,  I  answer,  from  the  ignorance  and 


299 


wickedness  of  their  former  heathen  condition.  This 
is  the  only  salvation  intended  in  the  passage  under 
consideration  ;  their  final  salvation  still  depended  on 
the  use  they  made  of  the  new  light,  the  new  motives, 
and  the  new  means,  which  they  enjoyed,  for  virtue 
and  happiness. 

In  support  of  this  interpretation,  let  me  refer  you 
to  the  words,  which  precede  the  text,  and  to  the  whole 
strain  of  this  epistle.  On  what  does  the  apostle  con- 
tinually insist  ?  Does  he  say,  you  are  now  secure  of 
an  eternal  salvation,  and,  therefore,  you  have  no  con- 
ditions of  acceptance  to  perform  ?  Far  from  it.  The 
whole  tenour  of  his  exhortation  is  this  :  By  God's 
favour  you  are  delivered  from  the  darkness  and  mis- 
eries of  your  idolatrous  state.  Ye  were  sometimes 
darkness,  but  now  ye  are  light  in  the  Lord.  Walk, 
therefore,  as  children  of  the  light.  The  blessings, 
you  already  possess,  are  but  the  pledge  and  foretaste 
of  those,  which  the  same  grace  will  bestow  on  you 
hereafter,  if  you  walk  worthy  of  God,  who  hath  call- 
ed you  to  glory  and  virtue. 

If  any  one,  in  consequence  of  the  explication,  we 
have  given  of  this  passage  to  the  Ephesians,  should 
accuse  us  of  diminishing  the  grace  of  God  in  the 
final  salvation  of  believers,  and  of  encouraging  the 
obnoxious  plea  of  human  merit,  let  such  person  first 
know  whereof  he  speaks,  and  what  he  affirms.  We 
believe,  and  so  must  every  christian,  that  if  any  of  us 
reach  at  last,  under  Jesus  Christ,  the  blessedness  of 
his  heavenly  kingdom,  it  will  be  through  the  grace  or 


800 


gratuitous  goodness  of  God,  whose  grace  alone  in- 
troduced the  christian  dispensation,  whose  grace  has 
fixed  the  terms  of  acceptance  and  forgiveness  in 
mercy,  and  not  in  the  rigour  of  law,  and,  finally, 
whose  grace  alone  could  have  offered  a  reward,  so 
infinitely  transcending  the  deserts  of  the  believer. 
Salvation,  under  the  gospel,  begins,  proceeds  and 
terminates  in  grace  ;  and  although  we  do  not  believe, 
that  it  was  the  apostle's  intention,  in  this  particular 
passage,  to  state  all  these  principles  of  our  religion, 
yet  we  arc  so  impressed  with  their  truth  and  impor- 
tance, that  we  propose  to  illustrate  them  in  what 
remains  of  this  discourse. 

In  the  first  place,  it  would  be  enough  to  justify  the 
propriety  of  the  assertion,  that  final,  as  well  as  pre- 
sent salvation  is  of  grace,  to  remark,  that  the  intro- 
duction of  the  christian  dispensation,  under  which  we 
live,  is  an  instance  of  the  undeserved  goodness  of 
God.  No  reason  can  be  assigned  for  the  mission  of 
Jesus  Christ  into  the  world,  but  the  love  of  God  to 
his  rational  creatures.  Nothing  but  grace  could  have 
led  him  to  look  with  an  eye  of  pity  on  the  state  of 
mankind,  and  provide  a  method  of  recovering  any 
part  of  them  from  the  dismal  influence  of  idolatry,  in 
which  they  were  sunk,  or  from  the  unfavourable  and 
uncharitable  operation  of  the  Jewish  economy,  in  the 
state,  to  which  it  had  then  fallen.  Indeed,  no  motives, 
but  those  of  pure  benignity,  can  be  assigned  for  God's 
granting  to  his  creatures  at  all  any  light  beyond  that, 
which  unassisted  nature  furnishes.    It  was  not  his 


301 

fault,  but  man's,  that  they  had  debased  and  extin- 
guished much  of  that  illumination,  which  reason  had 
given,  or  which  he  had  vouchsafed  to  them  in  former 
communications.  God  would  not  have  been  unjust, 
if  he  had  left  our  race  to  all  the  consequences  of  their 
self- depravation,  to  the  miseries  of  superstition,  to  the 
horrours  of  idolatrous  worship,  and  to  all  that  moral 
darkness,  in  which  the  world  was  enveloped  before 
the  coming  of  the  Christ.  It  was,  then,  because  God  so 
loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only- begotten  Son, 
that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life.  If,  then,  a  single  christian  at- 
tains to  glory,  honour,  and  immortality,  under  this 
gracious  dispensation,  it  is  by  grace  he  is  saved.  For 
no  one  man  or  nation  has  a  claim  to  the  light, 
which  it  furnishes,  to  the  motives,  w  hich  it  alfords,  to 
the  promises,  it  makes,  to  the  pardon,  it  extends,  or  to 
the  eternal  life,  which  it  discloses.  These  advantages, 
by  which  so  many  men  are  recovered  to  spiritual  life, 
who,  without  this,  would  have  been  sunk  in  idola- 
try, are  the  benefactions  of  a  merciful  father.  If,  then, 
christian,  in  consequence  of  your  knowledge  and  im- 
provement of  the  gospel,  you  are  saved  at  all,  it  is 
by  grace  you  are  saved ;  and  for  this  grace  you  ought 
to  be  unceasingly  grateful. 

2.  But  not  only  may  we  say,  with  great  justice,  that 
every  christian,  who  attains  to  heaven  under  the  gos- 
pel dispensation,  is  saved  by  grace,  because  it  was 
pure  grace,  which  sent  Jesus  Christ  with  this  religion 
into  the  world ;  but  the  terms  of  human  salvation, 


302 

under  this  dispensation,  are  conditions  of  favour  on 
the  part  of  God ;  and  the  system  proceeds  altogether 
upon  the  principle  of  benignity  or  kindness.  God  is  re- 
presented as  forgiving  the  sins  of  mankind,  upon  their 
repentance,  and  as  receiving  them  to  his  favour,  upon 
their  faith.  The  terms  of  acceptance  are  not  a  strict 
and  literal  conformity  to  the  whole  law  of  God,  with- 
out any  place  for  repentance,  or  allowance  for  infir- 
mity, for,  if  this  were  the  case  under  the  gospel,  who 
then  could  be  saved  ;  but  the  gospel  is  introduced,  as 
a  dispensation  of  grace,  in  contradistinction  to  that  of 
law.  The  law  was  given  by  Moses,  but  grace  and 
truth  came  by  Jesus  Christ.  The  new  covenant,  as 
it  is  called  by  the  writers  of  the  New  Testament,  in 
opposition  to  the  old  or  Mosaick,  is  founded  upon 
better  promises  ;  and  the  situation  of  mankind,  with 
reference  to  God,  as  their  moral  governour,  is  exhib- 
ited in  a  different  light. 

The  terms  of  our  salvation,  under  the  gospel,  are 
not  laid  in  a  sinless  obedience  to  what  may  be  called 
the  rule  of  right,  but  in  the  sincerity  and  strength  of 
the  principle,  from  which  our  obedience  proceeds,  or, 
m  other  words,  of  our  faith.  The  difference  between 
law  and  gospel  is  this  :  that,  by  the  former,  considered 
as  a  law,  no  provision  is  made  for  human  transgression; 
its  language  is  positive,  unbending,  and  unaccommodat- 
ing ;  and  if  God's  conduct  towards  his  creatures  were 
to  be  guided  purely  by  what  we  may  call  legislative 
exactness,  we  should  have  no  hope  of  escaping  from 
the  condemnation,  to  which  every  man,  as  a  trans- 


303 


gressor,  is  exposed.  It  is  in  opposition  to  this  view 
of  God's  government  of  his  creatures,  that  the  gospel 
is  so  often  called  grace,  a  spirit,  a  life,  in  other 
words,  a  principle  of  faith.  It  provides  for  remis- 
sion, for  pardon,  and  for  repentance.  It  represents 
God,  in  the  light  of  a  father,  disposed  to  receive  the 
returning  child  ;  as  a  friend,  who  looks  at  the  dispo- 
sition, which  his  creatures  exercise  towards  him ;  as  a 
gracious  governour,  who  wills  not,  that  any  should 
perish,  but  rather  that  they  should  come  to  repentance. 

In  this  view,  the  gospel  is  continually  held  up  by  the 
apostles  in  opposition  to  the  law  ;  it  is  called  a  spirit, 
and  not  a  letter  ;  life,  and  not  death  ;  grace,  and  not 
condemnation.  I  do  not  say,  that  this  has  not  always 
been  God's  method  of  justification,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world ;  indeed,  the  apostle  to  the  Ro- 
mans seems  to  declare,  that  it  has  ;  and  that,  in  fact, 
the  gospel,  or  rather,  that  faith,  which  is  the  principle 
of  gospel  obedience,  is  as  old  as  Abraham.  I  say 
only,  that  the  christian  dispensation  is  the  first,  in 
which  the  character  of  God  has  been  expressly  and 
explicitly  exhibited  in  this  parental  light,  as  justi- 
fying men  freely  by  his  grace,  and  as  accepting  a 
principle  of  sincere  faith,  and  the  practice  of  unre- 
served repentance,  instead  of  legal,  strict,  and  uner- 
ring obedience. 

But  even  if  we  had  no  other  dispensation,  with 
which  to  contrast  the  christian,  yet  whoever  looks  in- 
to his  own  character,  and  considers  the  terms  of  the 
gospel  salvation,  the  impossibility  of  our  ever  attain- 


304 


jug  to  eternal  life,  on  the  ground  of  merit,  and  the 
very  nature  of  those  promises,  which  the  gospel  con- 
tains, must  be  sensible,  that  if  he  is  made  heir  of  an 
immortal  life  at  all,  he  must  be  saved  by  grace,  and 
cannot  be  sufficiently  thankful  for  a  religion,  which 
throws  such  a  light  on  the  character  of  God,  and  re- 
lieves  the  mind  of  man  from  its  misapprehensions  and 
doubts  oq  the  subject  of  pardon. 

This  leads  me  to  say,  thirdly,  whenever,  as  chris- 
tians, we  look  into  our  own  characters,  and  then  at 
the  heaven,  which  is  opened  to  the  true  believer,  and 
observe  the  astonishing  disproportion  between  the 
rewards  promised  and  the  service  done  by  us,  we 
feel  the  whole  truth  of  the  assertion,  by  grace  are 
ye  saved,  in  the  sense,  in  which  it  is  commonly 
used.  The  first  honest  attention  to  our  own  charac- 
ters discovers  to  the  christian  the  absurdity  of  the 
doctrine  of  merit,  in  the  sense  of  our  deserving  re- 
ward from  the  hands  of  a  holy  and  just  governour. 
There  is  not  a  law  of  (rod,  which  we  have  not  broken  ; 
there  is  not  a  class  of  duties,  in  which  we  are  not  sen- 
sible of  defective  performance.  The  law  of  God  re- 
quires of  us  love  to  him  with  all  our  hearts.  Who 
is  there,  that  can  boldly  step  forward,  and  put  in  his 
claim  to  the  rewards  of  heaven,  on  the  ground  of  the 
complete  performance  of  this  law  ?  Is  the  case  easier 
with  the  law  relating  to  our  social  duties,  Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself?  The  man  must  be 
foolish  or  infatuated,  who  can  believe,  that  his  obedi- 
ence has  been  such,  either  in  spirit,  in  extent,  or  in 


constancy,  as  that  he  may  go  and  demand  a  compen- 
sation from  the  justice  of  his  God.  On  the  contrary, 
no  fact,  in  the  history  of  religious  men,  is  more  cer- 
tain than  this,  that  their  humility  before  God  al- 
ways increases  with  their  piety  and  virtue  ;  and  they 
are  most  sensible  of  their  need  of  God's  mercy,  whose 
characters,  in  the  estimation  of  the  world,  are  thought 
to  put  in  the  strongest  claim  to  reward. 

But  even  if  it  could  be  allowed  for  a  moment,  that 
it  might  be  said,  without  abuse  of  language,  with  re- 
spect to  some  very  good  men,  that  they  were  worthy 
of  a  better  world  than  this — which  is  a  form  of  speech, 
however,  to  which  there  are  very  strong  objections — 
yet,  when  we  consider  the  terms,  in  which  the  state 
of  the  blessed  is  described,  how  can  we  imagine  for 
a  moment,  that  even  the  best  of  men  have  merited,  or 
could  merit,  such  a  reward.  For  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man 
to  conceive  the  things,  which  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  him.  When  you  add  to  all  this  the 
idea  of  this  reward  being  unlimited  in  duration,  as 
well  as  inconceivable  in  greatness,  who  will  not  say, 
that  it  is  infinitely  beyond  any  thing,  to  which  man 
can  have  a  right  or  a  pretension  ?  When,  therefore, 
the  scriptures  teach  us  the  exceeding  grace  and  mercy 
of  God,  as  displayed  in  the  salvation  of  men,  they 
teach  us  the  same  doctrine,  which  a  consciousness  of 
our  own  deficiencies  establishes  and  confirms.  Whiit 
we  feel  in  ourselves,  corresponds  with  what  we  read 
in  scripture. 

39 


306 


But,  against  this  doctrine  of  salvation  by  grace, 
there  have  been  raised  two  objections,  which  I  should 
think  myself  unfaithful  to  the  subject,  if  I  neglected 
to  consider.  The  first  is  founded,  not  in  just  views 
of  christian  doctrine,  but  on  the  systems  and  vain  in- 
terpretations of  men.  It  is  asked,  how  can  God  be 
said  to  forgive  us  freely  or  gratuitously,  if,  as  is 
sometimes  declared,  complete  satisfaction  is  already 
made  to  his  justice,  by  the  death  of  Christ,  for  all  the 
transgressions  of  those,  who  are  admitted  to  partake 
in  the  benefits  of  his  death  ?  If,  by  the  punishment 
which  some  represent  as  inflicted  on  Christ,  as  the 
substitute  of  the  human  race,  the  claims  of  God's  law 
are  satisfied,  it  is  no  longer  mercy,  but  justice  in  God 
to  accept  those,  for  whom  this  satisfaction  has  been 
made.  Hoav,  ask  they,  can  it  with  any  propriety  be 
said,  that  we  are  saved  by  pure  favour,  after  such  an 
atonement  has  been  made  by  the  blood  of  Christ  ? 
To  this  the  common  answer  is,  that  we  are  to  ascribe 
it  to  the  pure  good  will  of  God,  that  he  accepted  any 
atonement  or  provided  any  satisfaction  ;  and,  there- 
fore, we  may  still  be  said  to  be  saved  by  grace,  be- 
cause it  was  grace,  which  made  it  just  to  save  us.  All 
this  confusion  follows  from  men's  substituting  words 
or  inventions  of  their  own,  in  place  of  the  general 
expressions  of  scripture. 

The  death  of  Christ  is  no  where  in  scripture  spok- 
en of  in  such  terms,  as  make  it  necessary  to  imagine, 
that  a  strict  equivalent  has  been  paid  to  God  for  the 
transgressions  of  mankind.    The  terms,  satisfaction; 


307 


substitution,  and  some  others,  equally  used  on  this 
subject,  are  not  to  be  found  applied  to  it  in  scripture, 
but  only  in  the  systems  of  theologians.  If  we  will 
but  go  back  to  the  simplicity  of  the  faith  and  language 
of  scripture,  Ave  shall  find,  that  all  which  Christ  did, 
and  suffered,  from  his  birth  to  his  painful  death,  pro- 
ceeded from  the  antecedent  love  or  favour  of  God, 
and  was  a  part  of  his  great  design  to  recover  man- 
kind from  sin.  The  idea  of  satisfaction  to  an  offend- 
ed Deity,  never  once  enters  into  the  different  state- 
ments, which  are  made  of  these  facts.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  scripture,  which  represents,  that  Christ  lias 
made  it  just  for  God  to  forgive  sins  now,  upon  repen- 
tance, when  it  would  not  have  been  before.  The  dis- 
positions of  God  toward  mankind,  or  the  principles  of 
his  government  are  not  altered  by  the  death  of  Christ ; 
on  the  contrary,  the  disposition  of  mercy,  by 
which  we  must  at  last  be  admitted  to  everlasting  life, 
is  the  same,  which  sent  Jesus  into  the  world,  and  ad- 
mitted Jew  and  Gentile  into  the  church  of  Christ. 

Unless,  therefore,  we  affix  to  the  death  of  Christ 
ideas  of  an  efficacy,  which  the  scriptures  do  not  as- 
cribe to  it,  there  is  no  kind  of  inconsistency  between 
the  merits  of  this  death  and  the  gratuitous  dispensa- 
tion of  pardon  upon  repentance  ;  but  both  the  death  of 
Christ,  and  the  acceptance  of  mortals  are  alike  parts 
of  the  same  gracious  scheme,  and  flow  from  the  same 
sentiments  of  mercy  in  God.  We  only  embarrass 
ourselves  and  our  religion,  when  we  attempt  to  intro- 


308 


duce  the  legal  ideas  of  substitute,  equivalent,  surety, 
or  satisfaction. 

But  a  more  important  objection  still  recurs.  If  the 
grace  of  God  is  so  gratuitous,  as  you  represent  it,  and 
if  the  death  of  Christ,  though  you  do  not  choose  to 
call  it  a  satisfaction,  has  any  efficacy  in  the  forgive- 
ness of  the  sins  of  mankind,  how  is  this  to  be  recon- 
ciled with  the  indispensable  necessity  of  good  works, 
for  which  the  apostles  have,  in  so  many  places,  taken 
care  to  provide  ?  I  might  answer  this  question  by 
saying,  that  the  nature  of  christian  salvation  is  such, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  any  but  a  good  man  to  enjoy 
it ;  and  Christianity  cannot  alter  that  original  constitu- 
tion of  the  moral  world,  by  which  God  has  made  sal- 
vation or  happiness  dependent  upon  virtue. 

But  if  this  should  not  be  deemed  satisfactory,  or 
accommodated  to  every  apprehension,  I  shall  be  ex- 
cused in  giving,  in  conclusion,  the  following  quotations 
from  one  of  the  plainest  and  most  popular  of  writers.* 

"In  the  business  of  our  final  salvation,  there  are  nat- 
urally, and  properly,  two  things,  viz.  the  cause  and  the 
condition  ;  and  these  two  things  are  different. 
We  should  see  better  the  propriety  of  this  distinction, 
if  we  would  allow  ourselves  to  consider  well,  what 
salvation  is  :  what  the  being  saved  means.  It  is  noth- 
ing less,  than,  after  this  life  is  ended,  being  placed  in 
a  state  of  happiness  exceedingly  great,  both  in  degree 
and  duration  ;  a  state,  concerning  which  it  is  said  : 
the  Bufferings   of  this  present  world  are  not  wor- 

*  Paley's  Works,  Vol.  iv.  p.  275.  Boston  Edition. 


309 


thy  to  be  compared  With  the  glory,  that  shall  be 
revealed."  "  It  is,  out  of  all  calculation,  and  com- 
parison, and  proportion,  above  and  more  than  any 
human  works  can  possibly  deserve.  To  what,  then, 
are  we  to  ascribe  it,  that  endeavours  after  virtue 
should  procure,  and  that  they  will,  in  fact,  procure  to 
those,  who  sincerely  exert  them,  such  immense  bles- 
sings ;  to  what,  but  to  the  voluntary  bounty  of  a 
God,  who,  in  his  inexpressible  good  pleasure,  has  ap- 
pointed it  so  to  be  ?  The  benignity  of  God  towards 
man  hath  made  him  this  inconceivably  advantageous 
offer.  But  a  most  kind  offer  may  still  be  a  condi- 
tional offer.  And  this,  though  an  infinitely  gracious 
and  beneficial  offer,  is  still  a  conditional  offer  ;  and  the 
performance  of  the  conditions  is  as  necessary,  as  if 
it  had  been  an  offer  of  mere  retribution.  The  kind- 
ness, the  bounty,  the  generosity  of  the  offer  do  not 
make  it 'less  necessary  to  perform  the  conditions,  but 
more  so.  A  conditional  offer  may  be  infinitely  kind 
on  the  part  of  the  benefactor,  who  makes  it,  may  be 
infinitely  beneficial  to  those,  to  whom  it  is  made  ;  if  it 
be  from  a  prince  or  a  governour,  may  be  infinitely 
gracious  and  merciful  on  his  part ;  and  yet,  being  con- 
ditional, the  condition  is  as  necessary,  as  if  the  offer 
had  been  no  more,  than  that  of  scanty  wages  by  a 
liard  taskmaster. 

In  considering  this  matter  in  general,  the  whole  of 
it  appears  to  be  very  plain ;  yet,  when  we  apply  the 
consideration  to  religion,  there  are  two  mistakes,  into 
which  we  are  very  liable  to  fall.     The  first  is,  that, 


310 


when  we  hear  so  much  of  the  exceedingly  great  kind- 
ness of  the  offer,  we  are  apt  to  infer,  that  the  condi- 
tions, upon  which  it  was  made,  will  not  be  exacted. 
Does  that  at  all  follow  ?  Because  the  offer,  even  with 
these  conditions,  is  represented  to  be  the  fruit  of  love, 
and  mercy,  and  kindness,  and  is,  in  truth,  so,  and  is 
most  justly  so  to  be  accounted,  does  it  follow,  that  the 
conditions  of  the  offer  are  not  necessary  to  be  per- 
formed? This  is  one  errour,  into  which  we  slide, 
against  which  we  ought  to  guard  ourselves  most  dil- 
igently ;  for  it  is  not  simply  false  in  its  principle,  but 
most  pernicious  in  its  application  ;  its  application  al- 
ways being  to  countenance  us  in  some  sin,  which  we 
will  not  relinquish. 

The  second  mistake  is,  that,  when  we  have  per- 
formed the  conditions,  or  think,  that  we  have  perform- 
ed them,  or  when  we  endeavour  to  perform  the  condi- 
tions, on  which  the  reward  is  offered,  we  forthwith 
attribute  our  obtaining  the  reward  to  this  our  per- 
formance or  endeavour,  and  not  to  that,  which  is 
the  beginning,  and  foundation,  and  cause  of  the 
whole,  the  true  and  proper  cause,  viz.  the  kindness 
and  bounty  of  the  original  offer.  This  turn  of 
thought,  likewise,  as  well  as  the  other,  it  is  necessary 
to  warn  you  against.  For  it  has  these  consequences : 
it  damps  our  gratitude  to  God ;  it  takes  off  our  atten- 
tion from  him.  Some,  who  allow  the  necessity  of 
good  works  to  salvation,  are  not  willing,  that  they 
should  be  called  conditions  of  salvation.  But  this,  I 
think,  is  a  distinction,  too  refined  for  common  christian 


311 


apprehension.  If  they  be  necessary  to  salvation,  they 
are  conditions  of  salvation,  so  far  as  I  can  see." 

I  can  add  nothing  to  the  simplicity,  or  perspicuity  of 
these  statements.  I  will  only,  therefore,  beg  you  to  re- 
member, that  the  grace,  and  mercy  of  God,  in  the  sal- 
vation of  men,  so  far  from  diminishing  the  necessity  or 
the  obligations  of  holiness,  constitute,  in  fact,  the 
strongest  obligations  and  motives  to  christians  to  lead 
a  life  of  unreserved  and  grateful  virtue ;  otherwise 
they  are  treasuring  up  for  themselves  wrath  against 
the  day  of  wrath,  by  despising  the  riches  of  God's 
forbearance,  and  neglecting  this  great  salvation. 


SERMON  XIX. 


LUKE  xviii.  10. 

TWO    MEN   WENT   UP   INTO  THE  TEMPLE    TO    PRAY  J   THE  ONE 
A   PHARISEE,   AND   THE    OTHER   A  PUBLICAN. 

CONFESSION  of  our  sins,  and  humiliation  on 
account  of  them,  are  not  duties,  which  belong  exclu- 
sively to  our  prayers.  But,  if  ever  the  sense  of  our 
unworthiness  ought  to  take  full  possession  of  the  soul, 
it  is,  when  we  stand  in  the  presence  of  God,  when, 
after  acknowledging  his  purity,  and  contemplating  his 
bounty,  we  turn  to  the  consideration  of  the  sinfulness 
of  our  hearts,  the  ingratitude  of  our  conduct,  and  the 
poverty  of  our  best  services.  It  is,  however,  much  to 
be  feared,  that,  in  our  intercourse  with  God,  as  well 
as  with  one  another,  we  are  not  always  thoroughly 
honest.  Accustomed,  as  we  are,  to  put  on  our  best 
dress,  and  keep  back  our  deficiencies  in  our  conver- 
sation with  mankind,  especially  when  we  are  our- 
selves the  subjects  of  it,  there  is  mucli  reason  to  sus- 
pect, that  we  sometimes  carry,  either  our  vanity,  or  our 
equivocation  and  concealment,  to  the  foot  of  the  mer- 


813 


cy  seat,  and  there,  as  well  as  in  the  world,  we  think 
to  appear  better  than  we  are.  Sometimes  our  confes- 
sion of  sins  degenerates  into  an  act  of  customary  for- 
mality,  or,  what  is  far  more  dreadful,  we  confess  them, 
that  we  may  recommence,  with  a  lighter  heart,  the  ca- 
reer of  transgression.  To  correct  these  dangerous 
errours,  and  to  assist  you  iu  the  performance  of  this 
part  of  duty,  let  us  attend  to  the  following  instructive 
parable. 

Two  men  went  up  into  the  temple  to  pray  ;  the 
one  a  Pharisee,  the  other  a  Publican.  The  gates  of 
the  sanctuary  are  thrown  open  for  the  admission  of 
all,  who  choose  to  enter  its  courts.  The  foot  of  the 
hypocrite  does  not  stumble  at  the  threshold ;  nor  are 
the  uplifted  hands  of  the  profane  and  polluted  blast- 
ed and  withered  in  the  midst  of  their  devotions. 
Even  now,  these  walls  enclose,  with  equal  security, 
the  devout  and  the  dissembling,  the  humble  and  the 
haughty,  the  Publican  and  the  Pharisee.  In  man's 
undiscerning  eye,  the  incense  of  their  prayers  seems  to 
mingle  ;  but,  through  this  cloud  of  disguises,  the  eye 
of  heaven  pierces  into  the  intention,  and  explores  the 
heart,  which  we  are  not  allowed  to  penetrate  or  judge. 
The  duties  of  the  Lord's  day  have  summoned  us 
here,  my  friends,  as  usual ;  and  Ave  agree  to  bar  out, 
for  a  time,  the  importunate  cares,  and  not  less  impor- 
tunate gayeties  of  the  week.  God  knows  the  spirit 
of  our  prayers  ;  and  it  may  be  w  ell  for  us  to  remem- 
ber, that,  of  the  two  men,  who  went  up  to  the  temple 
to  pray,  one  went  down  to  his  house  justified,  rather 
40 


314 


than  the  other ;  they  returned  as  they  came,  one  a 
Pharisee,  the  other  a  Publican. 

The  Pharisee,  continues  the  parable,  stood  and 
prayed  thus  with  himself :  "  God,  I  thank  thee,  I  am 
not,  as  other  men  are  $  extortioners,  unjust,  adulte- 
rers, or  even  as  this  Publican."    You  are,  perhaps, 
surprised  to  find,  that  a  sentiment  of  this  nature  should 
have  gained  a  place  in  the  prayers  even  of  a  Phari- 
see.    But  out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the 
mouth  speaks,  even  at  the  footstool  of  the  Almighty ; 
and  the  man,  who  has  been  fond  of  comparing  his 
own  advantages  and  attainments  with  the  imperfec- 
tions and  disadvantages  of  his  inferiours  in  life,  will 
be  little  disposed  to  humble  himself  in  the  presence 
of  his  God.    My  friends,  we  never  shall  acquire  a 
fair  knowledge  of  ourselves,  if  this  is  the  method  we 
take  to  form  the  estimate  ;  for  who  cannot  "find  many 
in  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance,  with  whom,  in 
some  respect,  he  will  not  suffer  by  comparison  ? 
When  you  consider,  then,  how  inclined  we  all  are, 
however  unconsciously,  to  compare  ourselves  with 
those  in  the  same  rank  or  occupation  of  life,  and 
when  we  observe,  also,  that  every  man  is  naturally 
most  intimate  with  those,  whose  moral  taste  and  at- 
tainments are  of  a  rank  with  his  own,  have  we  not 
some  reason  to  suspect,  that  the  spirit,  if  not  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Pharisee  have  sometimes  mingled  witli 
our  prayers,  and  checked  that  humility,  with  which 
they  ought  ever  to  be  accompanied  ? 


316 

But  let  us  carefully  trace  the  workings  of  this 
Pharisee's  mind.  He  first  thanks  his  (rod,  that  he  is 
not,  as  other  men  are,  an  extortioner.  He  had  not 
wrung  from  his  debtors  their  hard  earnings,  nor 
snatched  the  bread  from  their  children's  mouths,  nor 
left  the  parents  to  pine  away  in  the  cold  damps  of  a 
dungeon.  He  had  always  been  contented  with  sober 
gains.  To  the  Publicans  he  had  cheerfully  left  the 
collection  of  a  hateful  tribute  ;  therefore,  he  had  been 
guilty  of  none  of  the  extortions  and  oppressions  of 
office,  concerned  in  no  usurious  contracts,  or  cruel  im- 
positions. He  was  surprisingly  free  from  sins,  which 
he  had  neither  opportunity  nor  temptation  to  commit ; 
and,  with  this  wondrous  purity,  he  conies  into  the 
temple  of  his  God  to  indulge  his  self-complacency ! 

He  next  is  thankful,  that  he  is  not  an  adulterer. 
He  has  not  been  willing  to  run  the  dangerous  risk  of 
being  stoned  to  death  by  the  laws  of  Moses,  of  which 
he  was,  perhaps,  a  constituted  expositor  ;  and  for  this, 
too,  he  thanks  his  God. 

The  catalogue  of  his  excellencies  would,  perhaps, 
soon  have  been  exhausted,  even  in  his  own  account, 
had  he  not,  perchance,  turned  his  eyes  upon  a  poor 
Publican,  who  had  also  come  up  to  the  temple  to 
pray.  The  sight  of  this  man  adds  another  clause 
to  his  impious  prayer.  "  God,  I  thank  thee,  I  am 
not  as  this  Publican  !"  The  Publicans  were  a  class 
of  men  exceedingly  odious  to  the  Jews,  because  they 
were  the  appointed  collectors  of  a  revenue,  which, 
with  a  reluctance  never  to  be  subdued,  was  paid  by 


316 

this  obstinate  nation  to  the  emperour  of  Rome.  It 
is  true,  the  receivers  of  this  tribute  were,  in  general, 
not  less  iniquitous  than  hateful ;  and  nothing  but 
the  most  extravagant  propensity  to  self- applause 
could  have  found  any  satisfaction  in  a  consciousness 
of  superiority  to  this  despised  class  of  his  country- 
men. Here,  indeed,  closes  the  Pharisee's  enumera- 
tion of  vices,  in  abstaining  from  which  he  congratu- 
lates himself. 

And  now  let  us  turn,  my  hearers,  from  this  ficti- 
tious story,  the  temple,  the  Pharisee,  and  Jerusalem, 
and  look  at  our  own  times,  our  own  churches,  our  own 
characters.     How  often,  in  our  secret  meditations 
and  prayers,  have  we  deluded  ourselves,  and  offend- 
ed God,  by  partial  estimates  of  our  moral  worth  !  In 
examining  ourselves,  how  hastily  do  we  suffer  our 
thoughts  to  glance  over  the  dark,  and  repose  with 
delight  on  the  bright  portions  of  our  character  !  In 
our  commerce  with  men,  do  we  not  try  to  lure  their 
gaze  to  these  illuminated  spots,  and  even  venture  to 
hope,  that  they  may  catch  and  please  the  eye  of  om- 
niscience itself?    Ho  we  not  value  ourselves  most 
upon  our  freedom  from  those  sins,  which  we  are  least 
tempted  to  commit ;  and  think  it  a  great  virtue  to  have 
been  afraid  of  a  great  vice  ?  Few  of  us  are  extor- 
tioners ;  fewer,  perhaps,  adulterers.    We  do  not  out- 
strip the  age  in  degeneracy  ;  and  we  do  not  care  to 
fall  far  behind  it.    We  are  not  guilty,  forsooth,  of 
any  sins  but  those,  which  most  easily  beset  us ;  we 
allow  ourselves  those  indulgences  only,  which  belong 


317 

to  our  profession,  our  occupation,  our  rank  in  the 
world.  Are  we  to  expect  contrition,  humiliation, 
godly  sorrow,  and  repentance,  in  the  prayers  of  such 
men — men,  who  prefer  complaining  of  the  increas- 
ing corruption  of  the  times  to  stepping  out  of  their 
old  place  and  manners  to  resist  its  progress,  and 
who  compose  their  consciences  by  the  thought,  that 
the  world  abounds  with  more  corrupt  inhabitants  than 
themselves  ? 

The  Pharisee,  however,  in  the  parable,  relies  not 
entirely  on  his  freedom  from  atrocious  guilt.  He  has 
yet  in  reserve  some  works  of  supererogation,  to  re- 
commend himself  more  certainly  to  the  God,  who 
hears  and  disdains  his  prayer.  "  I  fast,"  says  he, 
"  twice  in  the  week ;  I  give  tithes  of  all  I  possess." 
These  fasts,  it  should  be  observed,  were  not  required 
by  the  law  of  Moses.  They  were  imposed  only  by  the 
traditions  of  the  Rabbins,  and  adapted  to  impress 
an  ignorant  populace  with  an  opinion  of  their  pecu- 
liar sanctity,  temperance,  piety  and  punctuality.  It 
is  true,  that  religious  fasting  is  not  the  method,  by 
which  we  are  now  disposed  to  discover  our  rever- 
ence for  religion,  or  secure  the  reputation  of  saints. 
At  the  present  day,  a  man  would  not  be  in  the  road 
to  applause,  if  he  were  discovered  by  his  fellow  citi- 
zens praying  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  or  if  he 
were  known  to  introduce  two  fast  days  into  his  do- 
mestick  arrangements  for  the  week.  But,  though  we 
are  not  now  so  Judaical,  or  so  ignorant,  as  to  sup- 
pose, that  such  punctilious  observances  can  atone  for 


318 


the  want  of  piety,  or  of  integrity,  still  are  there  none, 
who  take  to  themselves  undeserved  credit  for  many 
habits  and  opinions,  in  the  hope  of  concealing  their 
want  of  the  real  spirit  of  Christianity  ?  Thus,  it  is 
popular,  I  had  almost  said  fashionable,  in  the  socie- 
ty, in  which  we  live,  to  acknowledge,  with  much  se- 
riousness, the  importance  of  religious  institutions,  and 
to  condemn,  without  reserve,  that  infidel  philosophy, 
which  had  almost  effected  the  desolation  of  the  civil- 
ized world.    It  is  creditable,  at  least  among  us,  to 
lend  to  the  cause  of  Christ  the  support  of  our  elo- 
quence, and,  when  circumstances  require,  to  open  our 
purses.  It  is  customary,  to  pay  to  its  ministers  agree- 
able attentions ;  and  not  to  withhold  from  its  ordi- 
nances honourable  respect.    Our  churches  are  not 
yet  deserted,  nor  our  sabbaths  generally  and  openly 
profaned.    Is  it  uncharitable  or  presumptuous,  to  in- 
quire, whether  there  is  not  a  disposition  to  rest  our 
claim  to  the  high  and  sacred  character  of  christians 
on  these  easy  expressions  of  good  will  and  respect? 
Are  we  not  in  danger  of  substituting  these  for  that 
thorough  purity   and  inward  devotion,  which  are 
the  very  life  of  the  system  ?  Is  it  not  more  com- 
mon, to  contribute  a  word  in  support  of  its  insti- 
tutions, than  to  give  an  example  of  the  graces,  it 
would  form  ;  to  subscribe  a  sum  to  advance  its  inter- 
ests, than  to  sacrifice  a  vice,  which  is  at  wrar  with 
its  spirit  ?  Far  be  it  from  me,  to  withhold  the  hon- 
our, which  belongs  to  christian  bounty,  or  diminish 
that  respect,  which  the  institutions  of  our  religion, 


319 


even  in  these  tempting  times,  have  preserved ;  but 
far  be  it  from  me,  also,  to  encourage  you  in  the  de- 
lusion, that  any  professions  of  regard  to  Christianity 
will  counteract  the  influence  of  that  example,  which 
sets  at  nought  its  authority ;  or  that  any  contributions 
to  its  support,  or  any  attentions  to  its  teachers  can 
atone  for  ah  habitual  worldliness,  which  chokes  and 
stifles  all  its  virtues,  or  for  a  love  of  pleasure,  which 
swallows  up  the  wealth,  the  passions,  and  pursuits  of 
its  votaries. 

There  is,  also,  a  great  danger  of  confounding  a  re- 
gard for  our  own  system  of  belief  with  a  regard  for 
our  common  faith.  The  Pharisee  paid  tithes  of  all 
he  possessed.  Forget  not,  my  friends,  there  is  due 
a  tithe  of  charity,  as  well  as  of  zeal,  or  of  rational- 
ity ;  and  let  us  be  less  solicitous  to  oppose  others, 
than  to  excel  them.  The  spirit  of  Christianity  is 
wasted,  whenever  the  flame  of  dissension  burns  ;  and 
in  contending  for  the  faith,  it  is  easy  to  lose  the  tem- 
per of  Jesus. 

One  farther  observation  shall  close  our  reflections 
on  the  conduct  and  spirit  of  this  haughty  Pharisee. 
He  thanks  God,  you  observe,  that  he  is  not,  as  other 
men  are.  Remember,  then,  that  a  man  may  acknowl- 
edge, it  is  the  grace  of  God,  which  constitutes  the  dif- 
ference between  him  and  others,  and  profess  this  hum- 
bling sentiment  of  the  gospel,  with  some  degree  of  sin- 
cerity, and,  at  the  same  time,  cherish  and  express  his 
pride  in  the  very  language,  which  declares  his  faith, 
and  in  the  very  prayers,  which  accompany  his  imag- 


320 


inary  humiliation.  Beware,  my  hearers,  of  carrying 
into  the  presence  of  your  God  a  tone  of  spiritual 
pride,  which  you  would  he  ashamed  to  exhibit  in  the 
presence  of  your  fellow  men. 

But  to  return  to  the  parable.  "  The  Publican," 
continues  our  Saviour,  "  standing  afar  off,  would  not 
so  much  as  lift  up  his  eyes  unto  heaven,  but  smote 
upon  his  breast,  saying,  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner  V9  There  is  nothing  in  the  history,  which 
would  lead  us  to  conclude,  that  this  humble  worship- 
per had  been  guilty  of  enormous  sins,  that  any  unex- 
piated  crime  pressed  upon  his  conscience,  and  drew 
forth  this  exclamation  of  abasement  and  remorse.  He 
was,  perhaps,  as  honourable,  as  pure,  and  as  devout, 
as  was  expected  of  the  class,  to  which  he  belonged  in 
the  community ;  still  we  hear  him  smiting  his  breast 
with  anguish,  and  exclaiming,  God  be  merciful  to  me 
a  sinner  !  And  what  was  there  in  his  circumstances 
to  suggest  so  different  a  prayer  from  the  other  ?  Why 
could  he  not  have  addressed  his  Maker  thus  :  I  thank 
thee,  O  God,  I  am  not,  as  other  men  are,  proud,  vain, 
and  superstitious,  or  even  as  this  Pharisee.  I  place 
no  reliance  on  ritual  observances  ;  I  am  not  a  slave 
to  tne  unauthorized  traditions  of  the  elders ;  neither 
have  I  endeavoured  to  confine  all  rectitude,  piety, 
and  sanctity  to  my  own  order ;  but  I  worship  thee, 
who  art  a  spirit,  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  But,  instead 
of  this  encomium  on  himself,  his  prayer  presents  us 
one  short  and  comprehensive  clause  of  contrition, 
supplication  and  humble  acknowledgement. 


mi 


Let  this,  my  friends,  be  the  model  of  our  religious 
exercises,  especially  in  private.  It  is  a  more  uncom- 
mon tiling,  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine,  to  be  convin- 
ced, that  we  are  sinners  ;  and  yet  this  is  the  root  of 
christian  excellence.  The  more  deeply  it  strikes,  the 
more  branching  and  firm  will  be  our  virtue.  O  chris- 
tians, how  pure,  and  good  is  that  God,  whom  we 
have  offended  !  How  faint  is  the  impression,  which 
remorse  leaves  upon  our  minds  ;  and  how  many  thou- 
sands of  our  offences  have  passed  away  without  ex- 
citing a  sentiment  of  humiliation,  without  leaving  a 
trace  of  contrition.  Think,  how  many  confound  the 
fear  of  punishment  with  the  sense  of  guilt,  or  the  ap* 
prehension  of  dishonour  with  the  self-abasement  of 
the  christian.  How  many  mistake  the  mere  tears  of 
disappointment  for  those  of  godly  sorrow  ;  and  are 
angry  with  themselves  for  having  sinned  unsuccess- 
fully, instead  of  humbled  for  the  ungratefulness  of 
their  transgression.  There  are  some  men,  who  per- 
form repentance  for  once  in  their  lives ;  and  think,  that 
a  season  of  contrition,  in  which  they  feel  something 
of  their  guilt,  and  more  of  the  dread  of  punishment, 
and  which  is  followed  by  a  state  of  rapture  and  con- 
fidence, places  them,  for  the  remainder  of  their  lives, 
in  a  state  of  grace,  and  in  the  favour  of  God.  But 
the  conviction  of  sin  is  not  such  a  transitory  impres- 
sion. It  is  never  entirely  effaced  from  the  memory, 
or  the  conscience  of  a  christian.  You  will,  perhaps, 
tell  me,  that  no  one  is  so  ignorant,  as  to  suppose,  that 
he  has  not  disobeyed  his  Maker  :  or  needs  the  aid  of 
41 


323 

argument  to  convince  him,  that  he  is,  in  the  sight  of 
God,  imperfect  and  polluted.  But,  let  me  ask,  to  what 
does  this  conviction  amount  ?  If  it  consist  only  in  a 
vague  notion  of  inheriting  a  sinful  nature  from  our 
progenitors,  of  sharing  in  a  general  corruption  insep- 
arable from  the  posterity  of  Adam,  such  an  opinion  as 
this,  we  fear,  may  be  entertained  without  much  sharp- 
ness of  compunction,  and  without  much  hope  of  re- 
formation. If,  too,  our  idea  of  sin  amounts  only  to 
this,  that  it  is  a  kind  of  imperfection,  which  necessa- 
rily adheres  to  finite  beings,  we  shall  varnish  our 
vices  with  the  pleasant  name  of  frailties,  and  lament 
the  infirmity  of  our  natures,  rather  than  acknowledge 
the  guilt  of  our  conduct.  Away,  then,  with  all  these 
palliatives ;  and  let  us  look  immediately,  and  boldly, 
and  deeply  into  our  own  hearts.  Away  with  all 
our  flattering  comparisons  of  ourselves  with  others, 
this  self-gratulation,  this  complacent  sense  of  sin. 
We  gain  nothing,  my  friends,  by  measuring  ourselves 
with  every  other  person,  whom  we  meet :  it  does  not 
add  a  cubit  to  our  stature.  The  infallible  laws  of 
God  are  the  only  standard  of  religious  or  moral  pu- 
rity ;  and  this  detects,  at  once,  the  scantiness  of  our 
virtue.  To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony  let  us  re- 
sort. Vie  shall  then  find,  that  we  have  understood 
little  of  its  spirit,  that  we  have  shrunk  from  its  de- 
mands. We  shall  sec,  that  much  of  our  boasted 
righteousness  is  but  as  filthy  rags,  which  serve  only 
to  dress  us  up  for  the  company  of  men,  but  in  God's 
presence  conceal  nothing  of  the  odious  form  of  sin* 


323 


We  shall  not  so  much  as  lift  up  our  eyes  to  heaven, 
hut  place  our  hands  on  our  mouths,  and  our  mouths 
in  the  dust,  before  our  Maker,  and  cry,  God  be  mer- 
ciful to  us  sinners. 

There  is  among  us,  I  fear,  an  overweening  esti- 
mate of  our  publick  morality.  We  confound  this  no- 
tion with  that  of  patriotism.  We  arc  too  fond  of  boast, 
ing  of  our  regular  habits,  our  religious  advantages, 
our  attention  to  the  regular  services  of  the  sanctuary, 
and  the  decencies  of  life.  We  cherish  this  flattering 
notion  by  comparing  ourselves  with  countries,  older 
in  corruption,  and  more  unblushing  in  their  vices. 
Let  us  not  rely  too  strongly  on  what  our  fathers  have 
done  for  us.  It  was  the  darling  and  the  destructive 
errour  of  the  Jews,  in  the  days  of  their  depravity, 
that  they  comforted  themselves  witli  the  reflection,  We 
have  Abraham  to  our  father.  The  contrition  of  one 
true  penitent,  for  his  personal  sins,  is  better  than  all 
the  grace  of  our  ancestors.  Let  us  not  mistake  the 
beauty  of  the  temple  for  the  presence  of  God,  which 
alone  can  consecrate  it. 

To  conclude,  the  Publican,  in  t3ie  parable,  throws 
himself,  with  deep  humiliation,  on  the  mercy  of  God. 
True  penitence  is  not  verbose,  not  declamatory.  Pie 
does  not  attempt  to  aggravate  his  guilt  by  confes- 
sing sins,  of  which  he  is  not  guilty  ;  an  errour  too 
common  among  those,  who  give  themselves  up  to  a 
hackneyed  form  of  contrition  ;  but  he  seems  unable  to 
dwell  long  upon  his  own  unworthiness.  Much  less 
does  he  boast  of  any  virtues,  or  plead  any  merit  in  his 


observances.  You,  christians,  have  far  greater  en- 
couragements to  the  exercise  of  contrition,  than  this 
poor  Jewish  Publican.  Blessed  be  the  God  and 
Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  there  is,  at  the 
throne  of  an  offended  God,  a  kind  intercessor  for  his 
brethren.  Though  we  stand  afar  off,  though  we  lift 
up  not  so  much  as  our  eyes  to  heaven,  yet  has  ho 
promised  us,  that  not  a  faint  sigh  of  godly  sorrow 
shall  be  lost.  When  the  heart  is  wounded,  the  most 
secret  act  of  sorrow  is  as  eloquent,  as  the  tears  and 
entreaties  of  the  most  importunate  supplicator.  The 
Publican,  though  his  prayer  was  short  and  unlabour- 
ed, went  down  to  his  house  justified,  rather  than  the 
other.  Christians  !  let  not  this  house  of  prayer  ever 
w  itness  your  pharisaick  self-complacency ;  and  may 
God  touch  our  hearts  with  a  sense  of  our  own  un- 
worthiness,  and  his  purity,  and  make  our  prayers  the 
true  expression  of  penitential  feeling,  through  Jesus 
Christ, 


SERMON  XX. 


MATT.  xxvi.  35. 

PETER  SAID  UNTO  HIM,  THOUGH  I  SHOULD  DIE  WITH  THEE, 
YET     WILL   I   NOT   DENY  THEE. 

luke  xxii.  61,  62. 

AND  THE  LORD  TURNED,  AND  LOOKED  UPON  PETER.  AND 
PETER  REMEMBERED  THE  WORD  OF  THE  LORD,  HOW  HE 
HAD  SAID  UNTO  HIM,  BEFORE  THE  COCK  CROW,  THOU 
SHALT  DENY  ME  THRICE.  AND  PETER  WENT  OUT,  AND 
WEPT  BITTERLY. 

WE  have  often  ealled  your  attention  to  the  in- 
ternal evidences  of  truth,  which  the  gospel  history 
presents  to  a  careful  reader  of  the  New  Testament ; 
and  have  often  remarked,  that  proofs  of  this  kind 
multiply  prodigiously,  the  more  the  gospels  are  studi- 
ed. To  this  class  of  proofs  belong  the  characters, 
which  are  occasionally  introduced  in  the  evangelical 
narrative,  and  which,  every  one  must  acknowledge, 
are,  in  general,  delineated  with  great  distinctness  and 
consistency.  They  all  have  their  distinguishing  traits, 
such  as  wre  find  in  real  life  ;  and  so  natural  are  they, 
that  we  reject,  at  once;  the  suspicion;  that  John,  Pe- 


326 


ter,  Thomas,  Mary,  or  Paul,  for  example,  are  either 
fictitious,  or  studied  portraits.  In  the  number  of  the 
twelve,  each  apostle  has  his  peculiarities.  One  is 
bold  and  precipitate  ;  another,  gentle  and  affection- 
ate ;  a  third,  doubtful  and  hard  to  be  persuaded ; 
and  the  best  of  them  occupies  a  grade  of  excellence, 
which  leaves  him  at  an  infinite  distance  below  his 
Lord.  If  the  gospel  history  had  been  a  fabrication 
of  some  ingenious  or  fanatical  impostor,  instead  of 
this  distinctness  and  variety,  I  think,  we  should  have 
found  a  tame  uniformity  of  characters.  The  disci- 
ples would  all  have  been  fashioned  on  the  model  of 
their  master ;  and  the  delineation  of  Jesus  himself, 
supposing  it  to  have  been  the  work  of  imagination, 
"would  have  presented  none  of  those  solemn  and  un- 
describable  tints  of  supernatural  originality,  which 
now  make  the  character  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world 
such  as  it  is ;  such,  in  fact,  as  no  mortal  fancy  had,  or 
could  have  conceived  ;  and  such,  too,  as  no  being  of 
merely  mortal  race  would  have  been  able,  or  daring 
enough  to  appropriate. 

Among  the  characters  in  the  New  Testament,  that 
of  Peter  is  transmitted  to  us  with  singular  force  and 
individuality.  Not  that  his  character  is  drawn,  for 
there  is  not  an  instance  in  the  gospels  of  what  may 
be  called  character  painting.  What  we  know  of  the 
apostles,  we  know,  as  it  were,  by  accident.  In  the 
New  Testament,  there  is  no  circumstantial  narration 
of  an  individual's  life ;  but  all  that  is  said  of  him  is 
incidental,  and  unpremeditated,  as  well  as  short,  and 


J 


327 

hastily  set  down.  Of  Peter,  however,  the  first  of 
the  apostles,  perhaps  in  age,  certainly  in  calling  and 
office,  more  facts  happen  to  he  recorded,  than  of  any 
other  in  the  company  of  the  disciples.  He  appears 
to  have  been  a  favourite  with  our  Saviour;  and, 
though  not  perhaps  so  amiable  as  John,  of  a  cast  of 
mind  more  characteristick  and  decisive.  If  we  col- 
lect the  scattered  notices  of  this  apostle,  and  attempt 
to  combine  them  in  a  regular  outline,  we  shall  find  a 
character  arising  out  of  them,  which,  from  its  truth 
and  nature,  must  have  belonged  to  a  real  personage  ; 
a  character,  bold,  impetuous,  sensible,  consistent  in 
its  contradictions,  uniform  in  its  variations ;  a  charac- 
ter, such  as  the  great  drama  of  human  life  acknowl- 
edges, and  often  reproduces  on  the  stage  of  human 
action. 

Now,  my  hearers,  when  we  consider,  that  four  in- 
dependent historians  have  recorded  circumstances  in 
the  life  of  Peter ;  historians,  who,  from  the  occasional 
discordancies  in  their  narratives,  could  not  have  writ- 
ten in  concert, — that  they  have  recorded,  also,  dif- 
ferent facts,  and,  if  we  include  the  Acts,  have  w  ritten 
different  portions  of  Peter's  life, — that  Paul,  too,  has 
left  us,  in  his  letters,  indirect  and  occasional  notices 
of  the  same  apostle, — and  that  all  these  different 
traits,  if  combined,  make  up  an  original,  interest- 
ing, natural,  harmonious,  and  well-marked  charac- 
ter, is  not  the  conclusion  irresistible,  that  the  origi- 
nal existed,  or  that  they  all  copied  from  nature,  and 
probably  from  personal  observation  ? 


328 


Recollect,  now,  I  pray  you,  that,  if  one  only  of  the 
characters  of  the  apostles  be  supposed  to  be  real,  the 
gospel  history  must  be  true.  The  facts  are  so  inti- 
mately blended,  the  characters  so  mutually  depen- 
dent, that  the  whole  story  of  Jesus  and  his  immedi- 
ate disciples  must  exist  together ;  nay,  the  character 
of  a  single  apostle  is  not  to  be  accounted  for,  but  on 
the  supposition  of  the  truth  of  the  principal  facts  in 
the  evangelical  history ;  and  thus,  from  the  character 
of  a  single  apostle,  we  come  to  that  most  grand  and 
glorious  conclusion,  the  divine  original  of  the  gospel 
of  Christ. 

In  the  following  discourses,  we  propose  to  give  you, 

1.  An  outline  of  the  character  of  Peter,  as  far  as 
it  may  be  collected  from  the  circumstances  mentioned 
in  the  evangelical  histories  ; 

2.  And  then  to  make  some  reflections  in  confirma- 
tion of  the  truth  of  the  gospel,  and  in  aid  of  our 
christian  steadfastness. 

The  character  of  Peter  is  no  uncommon  union  of 
qualities.  In  his  constitution  there  was  nothing 
phlegmatick,  nothing  cold.  He  was  sanguine  in  his 
projects,  rash  in  his  movements,  tender  in  Ms  at- 
tachments, exposed  to  change  from  the  very  impetu- 
osity of  his  feelings ;  with  more  of  courage,  than  of 
fortitude  ;  more  of  zeal,  than  of  firmness ;  more  of 
confidence,  than  of  constancy. 

That  fact  in  Peter's  history,  which  lias  given  him 
such  a  preeminence  in  the  estimation  of  christians, 
and  has  elevated  him,  in  the  opinions  of  a  large  di- 


329 


vision  of  the  christian  world  to  a  seat  second  only 
to  that  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  secured  to  him  an  ever- 
lasting primacy  in  the  church,  was  that  magnanimous 
acknowledgement,  which  he  first  made  of  the  char- 
acter of  his  master  :  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son 
of  the  living  God.    It  was  at  a  time,  when,  as  you 
well  know,  the  Jews  were  full  of  expectation,  that 
the  great  deliverer  was  to  appear  in  the  family  of 
David,  who  should  raise  his  standard  of  revolt,  as- 
sume the  almost  forgotten  ensigns  of  hereditary  roy- 
alty, place  himself  at  the  head  of  his  oppressed  and 
impatient  nation,  confirm  his  authority  by  visible  and 
splendid  prodigies,  maintain  his  cause  by  supernatu- 
ral achievements,  establish  his  court  in  the  capital  of 
Judea,  and  erect  an  universal  and  everlasting  domin- 
ion.— In  this  state  of  things,  when  every  Jewish 
mother  was  longing  to  give  birth  to  the  Messiah, 
and  every  Jewish  breast  beating  high  with  hopes  of 
future  greatness,  Jesus  appears,  a  perfect  contrast  to 
such  worldly  and  ambitious  fancies,  the  poor  son  of 
a  carpenter's  wife,  wandering  from  village  to  village, 
without  a  place  to  lay  his  head,  simple  in  appear- 
ance, spiritual  in  his  conversation,  meek  and  lowly 
in  his  views,  and  daily  disgusting  his  gross  and  self- 
ish followers  by  his   recommendations  of  poverty, 
and  predictions  of  approaching  calamity.    The  dis- 
ciples were,   beyond  measure,   perplexed.  They 
saw  Jesus  daily  performing  the  most  astonishing 
and  beneficent  miracles,  which  convinced  them,  that 
(rod  was  with  him  5  but  their  preconceptions  of  the 
42 


330 


Messiah's  character  were  such,  as  refused  to  be 
reconciled  with  his  present  situation  and  prospects. 
Now,  in  this  crisis  of  distressing  uncertainty  among 
the  disciples — for  they  had  left  all  and  followed 
Jesus — when   others  were  deserting  him  in  great 
numbers,  dissatisfied  and  disappointed,  and  Jesus 
says  to  his  disciples,  Will  ye  also  go  away  ?  Peter, 
with  his  usual  forwardness,  answers  for  them  all : 
Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  thou  hast  the  words  of 
eternal  life.    And,  soon  after,  when  Jesus  explicitly 
asks  them,  Whom  say  ye  that  I  am  ?  Peter  alone 
replies,  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living 
God.  Jesus  exclaims,  Blessed  art  thou,  Simon ;  for 
flesh  and  blood  hath  not  revealed  it  unto  thee,  but 
my  father  who  is  in  heaven  :  that  is,  you  derive  this 
from  a  higher  and  better  source  than  the  world's 
opinion.    Then  our  Saviour  pronounces  that  memor- 
able promise  :  Upon  this  rock  will  I  build  my  church, 
and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it ; 
and  Peter's  confession  was  not  unworthy  of  such  a 
promise.    It  was  a  brave  confession  ;  a  sentiment  of 
his  heart,  as  well  as  a  dictate  of  his  understanding. 
It  was  the  united  result  of  Peter's  personal  attach- 
ment to  Jesus,  and  his  knowledge  of  his  miracles 
and  character. 

The  most  characteristick  trait  of  Peter's  mind  is, 
undoubtedly,  that  impetuosity,  and  ardour  of  feeling, 
which  rendered  him  sometimes  too  confident,  rash, 
and  intemperate,  but  commonly  bold,  decisive,  and 
affectionate.    Observe,  now,  I  entreat  you,  howr  clear- 


331 

ly  this  distinctive  feature  of  his  character  is  present- 
ed to  us  by  all  the  evangelists,  and  even  preserved 
through  the  different  periods  of  his  life.  Permit  us, 
first,  to  remark,  however,  that  every  man's  virtues  or 
vices  are  peculiarly  his  own :  that  is,  they  cannot  be 
transferred  to  the  mind  of  any  other  man,  though 
equally  virtuous  or  vicious  on  the  whole,  without  as- 
suming a  different  colour,  or  else  producing  some 
manifest  incongruity  of  character.  The  graces  of  the 
best  christian  in  the  world  are,  in  some  degree,  mod- 
ified by  his  peculiar  temperament :  they  are  not  pre- 
cisely the  same  thing  in  him,  which  they  are  in  anoth- 
er christian  of  the  same  school.  It  is  not  to  be  hoped, 
perhaps  it  is  not  to  be  desired,  that  we  should  here 
lose  all  our  characteristick  passions,  in  the  uniformity 
of  christian  perfection.  The  christian  always  melior- 
ates the  man  ;  but  never  yet  has  the  man  been  com- 
pletely lost  in  the  christian.  The  only  character,  in 
which  every  thing  constitutional  seems  to  have  been 
lost  in  a  kind  of  perfection  never  to  be  surpassed,  is 
that  of  Jesus  Christ ;  and  this  is  one  of  the  many 
proofs  of  its  superhuman  greatness. 

But  the  native  ardour  of  Peter's  temper  is  perpet- 
ually breaking  out,  both  before  and  after  the  death 
of  his  master.  That  sudden  confidence,  which  is  al- 
ways attendant  on  such  minds,  is  curiously  exhibited 
in  Peter's  desiring  our  Lord,  if  it  were  indeed  he,  to 
bid  him  come  to  him  on  the  water.  Jesus  says,  come  ; 
and  Peter  sets  out  to  walk  upon  the  waves,  in  all  the 
ardour  of  faith  ;  but  he  has  proceeded  but  a  few  steps, 


332 

cre  his  heart  fails  him.  The  billows  are  boisterous, 
and  he  sinks,  crying  out,  Lord,  save,  or  I  perish.  Is 
it  fanciful  to  imagine,  that  we  discern,  in  this  partial 
failure  of  the  apostle,  the  hints  and  rudiments  of  that 
lamentable  weakness,  which  afterwards  allowed  him 
to  deny  his  master  ? 

The  impetuosity  of  Peter's  temper,  united  with  the 
strong  affection,  which  he  bore  to  Jesus,  sometimes 
mounted  into  intemperate  courage,  and  sometimes 
melted  into  the  other  extreme  of  tenderness  and  hu- 
mility. When  Jesus  had  requested  him  and  two 
other  of  his  disciples  to  watch  with  him,  during  that 
night  of  agony,  when  he  was  apart,  praying,  that  the 
cup  of  death  might  pass  from  him,  Peter,  like  a  man 
of  more  ardour  than  perseverance,  w  as  overcome  with 
sleep.  He  is  soon  awakened  by  the  noise  of  the  mul- 
titude, that  approached,  with  their  swords  and  staves, 
to  arrest  his  master.  Immediately,  he  puts  his  hand 
upon  his  sword,  and  asks  his  master,  if  lie  shall  strike. 
But,  with  characteristic!?:  impatience,  he  cannot  wait 
for  the  answer,  but  instantly  draws,  and  cuts  off  the 
ear  of  one  of  the  high  priest's  servants.  Jesus  cries 
out :  hold !  so  far  as  this  I* — touches  the  ear,  and  heals 
the  wound. — Two  exquisite  traits  of  character,  both 
in  Jesus  and  his  impetuous  disciple.  These  are  the 
little  circumstances,  which  give  a  story  the  stamp  of 
truth. 

Let  us  mention  some  other  instances,  equally  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  fabricator  of  a  narrative. 

*  See  Wakefield's  note  on  this  passage. 


333 


Jesus,  after  his  resurrection,  appears  on  the  shore 
of  the  lake,  where  some  of  his  disciples  were  out  in 
a  boat  employed  in  fishing,  but  without  success. 
They  espy  some  one  on  the  shore,  who  orders  them 
to  throw  on  the  right  side,  and  they  shall  find.  Im- 
mediately the  net  is  filled,  almost  to  breaking.  They 
conclude  that  it  was  Jesus  ;  and  instantly  Peter  throws 
himself  into  the  sea  to  swim  to  his  beloved  master, 
while  the  rest  of  the  disciples  wait,  till  the  boat  reach- 
es the  shore. 

Again,  in  that  affecting  interview,  when  Jesus 
washed  his  disciples'  feet,  when  he  comes  to  Peter, 
he  cries  out,  Lord,  thou  shalt  never  wash  my  feet. 
Jesus  answers  him,  If  I  wash  thee  not,  thou  hast  no 
part  in  me.  Melted  to  tenderness  by  this  reply,  he 
flies  to  the  other  extreme  of  humility,  and  says,  Lord, 
not  my  feet  only,  but  my  hands  and  my  head  !  A  man 
of  such  passions,  in  a  moment  of  affectionate  enthu- 
siasm, might  rush  into  death  to  save  a  friend,  while,  in 
the  next  moment,  his  fears  might  overpower  and  pet- 
rify him. 

Once  more,  there  is  mentioned  a  trifling  circum- 
stance in  a  visit  to  the  sepulchre,  which,  though  en- 
tirely incidental,  may,  perhaps,  be  thought  happily  to 
illustrate  this  apostle's  affectionate  character.  On  the 
morning  of  the  resurrection,  he  arrives  with  John  at 
the  sepulchre,  and  finds  it  open.  John  stoops  down, 
and,  looking  in  only,  concludes,  that  Jesus  is  not  there. 
But  Peter,  not  satisfied  with  this,  goes  in,  and  searches 
the  sepulchre.  After  that,  John  also  enters,  and  they 


334 


ascertain,  that  the  sepulchre  is  undoubtedly  empty. 
Now  this  trait,  like  the  others,  is  incidental,  but  they 
are  all  worthy  of  being  observed.  It  is  the  privilege 
of  simplicity  and  truth  alone,  to  leave  these  touches  of 
nature,  which  are  not  without  difficulty  to  be  attained, 
and  which,  in  the  present  case,  are  utterly  incon- 
sistent with  imposture. 

You  see,  then,  my  hearers,  the  character  of  Peter. 
Our  Saviour,  who  had  been  with  him  more,  perhaps, 
than  with  any  of  his  disciples,  as  he  appears  to  have 
resided  at  his  house  in  Capernaum,  knew  his  disposi- 
tion, and  often  attempted  to  discipline  and  improve  it. 
He  even  goes  so  far,  as  to  forwarn  him,  that,  with  all 
his  fervour  of  affection,  he  would  one  day  deny  his 
Lord.  Peter  declares,  with  indignant  confidence, 
Though  I  should  die  with  thee,  yet  will  I  not  deny 
thee.  Ah,  Simon  !  though  you  are  ready  to  fight  for 
your  master,  you  cannot  yet  suffer  for  him  !  You  have 
followed  him,  hitherto,  not  only  because  you  love 
him,  but  in  the  expectation,  that  lie  will  discover  his 
Messiahship.  You  are  hoping,  that  he  will  soon  de- 
clare himself,  and  lead  you  to  victory  in  his  cause, 
and  to  honour  and  eminence  in  his  kingdom.  You 
are  not  prepared  to  see  him  die  upon  a  cross.  Your 
faith  will  falter  in  that  day  of  disappointment.  Your 
impetuosity  alone  will  not  ensure  your  fidelity.  It  is 
one  thing,  to  have  the  boldness  of  enthusiasm,  and 
another,  to  have  the  firmness  and  endurance,  which 
are  necessary  in  the  apostle  of  a  suffering  master. 


335 


We  must  attend  now  to  that  unfortunate  event  in 
Peter's  history,  which,  if  it  were  not  so  instructive, 
might  be  forgotten.  But,  while  it  has  blemished,  it 
has  contributed  to  immortalize  the  fame  of  this 
apostle. 

Jesus,  contrary  to  the  expectation  of  his  disciples, 
even  to  the  last,  is  arrested  and  hurried  away  to  trial. 
He  is  now  entirely  in  the  power  of  his  enemies.  His 
supernatural  faculties  appear  to  have  deserted  him  ; 
and  the  God,  in  whom  he  had  trusted,  comes  not  to 
his  rescue.  At  this  crisis,  his  hitherto  faithful  disci- 
ples, alarmed,  disappointed,  and  confounded,  forsake 
him,  and  flee.  Peter,  however,  yields  to  his  affection, 
and  follows  his  master,  at  a  distance,  to  the  palace  of 
the  high  priest.  Eager  to  see  what  would  be  the 
end,  and,  no  doubt,  secretly  hoping,  that  our  Saviour 
would  yet  deliver  himself,  he  mixes  with  the  crowd 
of  servants  and  soldiers  at  the  bottom  of  the  hall, 
where  he  might  observe  all  that  passed,  and  remain 
unnoticed  in  the  multitude  and  tumult.  But  either 
his  speech  or  his  perturbation  soon  betray  him.  One 
of  the  high  priest's  maids  unfortunately  passes  liim, 
and  says,  This  man  was  with  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  He 
replies,  I  was  not.  Again,  another  challenges  liim. 
He  denies  it  again.  Then  a  relation  of  him,  whose 
ear  he  had  cut  off,  looking  at  him,  says,  Did  I  not  see 
thee  in  the  garden  with  him  ?  And  now,  with  all  that 
passion,  which  we  have  seen  to  belong  to  him,  and 
with  that  distracting  terrour,  which  attends  upon  great 
and  sudden  danger,  and  upon  falsehood  in  a  man  un- 


336 


accustomed  to  deceive,  he  begins  to  curse  and  to 
swear,  saying,  I  know  not  the  man. 

Ah  !  faithless,  fallen  Peter  !  Is  this,  then,  the  man, 
who  was  just  now  drawing  his  sword,  and  ready  to  fight 
for  his  master  ?  Is  this  the  man,  who  lately  declared 
before  all  the  disciples,  Though  I  should  die  with  thee, 
yet  will  I  not  deny  thee  ?  Is  this  the  man,  on  whom  Je- 
sus was  to  build  his  church,  so  stable,  so  immoveable, 
that  the  gates  of  hell  should  not  prevail  againt  it  ?  Is 
this  the  man,  who  was  to  hold  the  keys  of  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  ?  Precipitated,  in  a  moment,  from  all 
his  dignity,  real  as  well  as  imaginary,  the  great  apos- 
tle is  the  sport  of  a  maid  !  The  magnanimous,  enthu- 
siastick,  fearless,  and,  let  us  add,  honest  disciple  is 
become  the  prey  of  his  own  guilty  conscience ;  and 
shrinks  into  the  covert  of  his  own  shame.  I  know 
not  the  man  !  Though  you  know  not  your  master, 
poor,  fallen  Peter  !  he  is  not  forgetful  of  his  disciple 
and  friend.  The  Lord  turned  and  looked  upon  Pe- 
ter ! — One  would  think,  that  such  a  look,  in  such  a 
moment,  would  have  overwhelmed  him  with  confu- 
sion, and  chilled  the  blood  around  his  heart  ;  that  he 
must  have  sunk  to  the  earth,  in  hope  that  it  might  open, 
and  swallow  him  up,  and  his  unsupportable  shame. — 
He  cannot,  indeed,  endure  it.  He  rushes  out  of  the 
hall,  and  weeps,  says  the  evangelist, — and  weeps  bit- 
terly. 

In  the  circumstances  of  this  affecting  event,  we  dis- 
cern all  the  peculiarities  of  Peter's  character.  It  was 
the  same  man — who  cannot  see  it? — that  first  confessed 


337 

and  that  first  denied  his  master,  the  same  man,  that  so 
loved  and  so  abjured  him.    When  the  other  disciples 
fled,  his  affection  overcame  his  fears,  and  he  ventured 
to  follow  to  the  high  priest's  palace.    The  others  had 
not  the  courage  to  rush  into  the  same  extremity  of 
danger,  and  were  not,  therefore,  exposed  to  a  similar 
temptation.    No  !  they  were  not  forward  enough,  they 
were  not  ardent  enough — if  the  solecism  may  he  par- 
doned, they  were  not  hold  enough  to  fall,  like  Peter. 
And  how  momentary  was  his  fall  !  The  blush  of  dis- 
honest shame  had  hardly  time  to  tinge  his  cheek,  ere 
the  tears  of  contrition  washed  away  the  stain.  The 
tempter  dropped  his  prey,  as  soon  as  he  had  grasped 
it.    The  moment  of  his  fall  coincided  with  the  mo- 
ment of  his  repentance.    He  w  ent  out,  and  wept  bit- 
terly.   Here  we  see  all  the  quick  sensibility  of  his 
temper.    A  look  dissolved  him.     The  bigoted  high 
priest  and  cruel  Jews  were  unaffected  by  the  mani- 
fest innocence  and  greatness  of  our  Saviour's  charac- 
ter, as  it  appeared  upon  his  trial.   Though  the  earth 
shook  unier  them  at  his  crucifixion,  and  darkness 
covered  their  favoured  land,  while  the  light  of  nations 
was  expiring  in  the  midst  of  them,  their  hard  hearts 
wrere  not  touched.    All  his  beneficence,  all  his  com- 
passion, all  his  power,  his  resurrection  itself  left  them 
the  same  ungracious,  unrepenting,  unforgiving,  un for- 
given race.    In  the  mean  while,  Peter  is  in  tears.  A 
look  recovered  this  tender  apostle.    While  his  mas- 
ter was  suffering  on  the  cross,  Peter,  I  doubt  not,  was 
suffering,  in  secret,  reproach  and  anguish  on  account  of 
43 


338 


a  fault,  which,  because  he  could  uot  forgive  himself, 
the  world  and  his  master  have  long  since  forgiven  him. 

This  unfortunate  event  in  Peter's  life  was,  no  doubt, 
permitted  in  the  counsels  of  a  kind  Providence,  to  hum- 
ble this  confident  apostle.  It  was  necessary,  to  temper 
the  inconvenient  warmth  of  his  zeal,  to  moderate  his 
impatience,  and  to  make  him  ashamed  of  his  positive 
and  ostentatious  professions.  This,  indeed,  it  seems  to 
have  effected.  By  his  lamentable  fall  he  seems  to 
have  learned  extraordinary  humility  ;  for  we  find  him, 
in  after  life,  acknowledging  before  Paul,  who  was 
comparatively  a  novice  in  the  gospel,  that  he  had 
been  in  an  errour,  in  yielding  to  the  opinion  of  the 
Jews  of  Jerusalem,  and  withdrawing  from  his  inter- 
course with  the  Gentiles.  Yes,  my  hearers,  this 
venerable  apostle  was  rebuked  by  his  younger  broth- 
er Paul,  and  he  submitted.  This  humility  he  learned, 
I  doubt  not,  in  that  memorable  school,  the  hall  of  the 
high  priest,  where  he  had  been  so  terribly  rebuked  by 
the  eye  of  his  master. 

Let  us  turn  to  a  most  affecting  and  beautiful  incident 
in  the  character  of  Jesus,  and  conclude  this  part  of  the 
discourse.  As  soon  as  he  has  risen  from  the  grave,  his 
first  words  to  Mary  Magdalene  are  :  Go  tell  my  disci- 
ples and  Peter,  that  I  am  risen  from  the  dead.  How 
touching  is  this  little  mention  of  Peter  only  by  name. 
Afterward,  in  an  interview  with  the  apostles,  where 
Peter  was  present,  he  draws  from  him  a  threefold  de- 
claration of  his  attachment,  in  allusion  to  his  having 
three  times  denied  him.    Simon,  son  of  Jonas,  lovest 


339 


thou  me  ?  Peter  was  grieved,  that  he  said  unto  him 
the  third  time,Lovest  thou  me?  and  replies,  Lord,  thou 
knowest  all  things,  thou  knowest  that  I  love  thee. 
Jesus  saith  unto  him,  Feed  my  sheep. 

Thus  was  Peter  reinstated  by  our  Saviour  in  his 
apostolical  commission,  and  he  preserved,  to  the  end 
of  life,  that  preeminence,  to  which  his  age  and  virtues 
entitled  him,  and  all  that  activity,  which  his  disposition 
rendered  peculiarly  easy.  Yes,  affectionate  apostle  ! 
from  the  hour  of  your  fall,  you  followed  your  master 
through  the  dangers  of  a  publick  ministry ;  and  now 
the  crown  of  honourable  martyrdom  in  the  cause  of 
Christianity  adorns  the  head  of  that  apostle,  who  was 
once  tempted  to  say  of  his  master  :  I  know  not  the 
man. 

The  outline,  which  we  have  now  presented  you 
of  the  life  and  character  of  Peter,  has,  we  hope,  suf- 
ficiently prepared  you  for  the  reflections,  which  are  to 
follow.  The  first  of  them  is,  the  argument  in  favour 
of  the  truth  of  the  gospel,  drawn  from  the  change  of 
character  and  views  in  Peter,  and  the  rest  of  the 
apostles,  after  the  resurrection.  It  is  an  argument, 
which  we  earnestly  entreat  the  unbeliever  to  ponder 
well,  to  examine  on  every  side,  and  tell  us,  how  its 
force  is  to  be  eluded. 

If  you  will  attend,  then,  to  the  characters  of  these 
twelve  men,  among  whom  Peter  was  unquestionably 
the  most  eminent,  you  find,  that  they  were,  in  general, 
uncultivated,  and,  originally,  as  narrow  in  their  preju- 
dices, as  the  rest  of  their  countrymen.    They  do  not 


340 


appear  to  have  been  distinguished  from  the  middling 
class  of  Jews  by  any  qualities,  which  would  com- 
mand peculiar  respect,  or  conciliate  extraordinary  af- 
fection. Certainly,  they  were  among  the  last  men, 
whom  we  should  have  chosen  to  propagate  a  new 
theory,  and  to  convert,  to  such  a  system  as  the  gospel, 
the  conceited  disciples  of  Zeno  and  Lucretius  and 
the  still  haughtier  doctors  of  the  synagogue.  They 
who  sat  in  Moses'  seat  were  prepared  to  despise  their 
presumptuous  pupils,  who  had  been  so  long  implicit- 
ly subjected  to  their  ecclesiastical  authority.  They 
could  not  but  smile,  to  see  these  Galileans  putting  off 
their  fishers'  garments  to  put  on  the  robes  of  a  pro- 
phet. No  !  we  should  have  chosen  the  noble  and  in- 
telligent Nicodemus,  the  learned  Gamaliel,  the  rich 
Joseph  of  Arimathea,  the  eloquent  and  insinuating 
Tertullus.  So  entirely  the  reverse  of  this  were  the 
appointments  of  Jesus,  that  the  only  man  among  the 
disciples,  who  appeared  capable,  by  the  energy  of  his 
character,  and,  perhaps,  by  the  powers  of  his  mind, 
to  spread  a  new  religion  in  the  face  of  an  opposing 
world,  is  suffered  to  show  his  incompetency,  and  give 
a  most  humiliating  proof  of  his  infirmity,  which  is 
transmitted  to  all  succeeding  generations,  to  satisfy 
the  christian,  that,  if  that  doctrine,  or  that  work 
had  been  of  men,  it  would  have  long  since  come  to 
nought. 

Peter  and  the  other  disciples,  we  doubt  not,  at- 
tended Jesus,  while  he  lived,  chiefly  because  they  had 
hopes  of  his  assuming  some  higher  power,  than  that 


4 


of  healing  diseases ;  a  power,  which  should  defeat 
the  enemies  of  the  Messiah,  and  reward  with  the  first 
places  in  his  kingdom  his  faithful  adherents.  Such 
was  the  state  of  Jewish  expectation,  that  they  could 
have  formed  no  other  idea  of  the  kingdom  of  Christ. 
Whenever  Jesus  hinted,  that  they  would  meet  with 
sufferings,  they  probably  had  no  conception,  that  these 
sufferings  would  be  any  thing  more,  than  some  tempo- 
rary impediments  from  the  incredulity  of  their  coun- 
trymen, which  would  soon  be  at  an  end,  and  termi- 
nate in  their  final  elevation  to  undisputed  authority. 
But,  when  our  Lord  hinted  at  his  own  death,  Peter 
cries  out,  indignant  and  alarmed,  Be  it  far  from 
thee,  Lord,  this  shall  not  be  unto  thee ;  so  that 
our  Saviour  was  obliged  to  rebuke  him,  and  say, 
Get  thee  behind  me,  Peter,  thou  art  an  offence  unto 
me. 

The  apostles  retained  these  worldly  hopes,  till  the 
very  last  moment  of  their  attendance  on  our  Saviour. 
Of  course,  his  arrest  must  have  sufficiently  surprised 
them  ;  but  when  they  found,  that  there  was  no  inter- 
position in  his  behalf,  and  that  lie  was  not  to  escape 
from  the  hands  of  the  officers,  they  gave  up  his  cause 
as  lost.  Their  full-blown  hopes  were  blasted  in  an 
hour  ;  and  all  the  gay  and  imposing  imaginations  of  a 
worldly  kingdom,  with  its  palaces  and  crowns,  robes 
and  riches,  the  ermine,  and  the  sceptre,  vanished  like 
the  dream  of  the  morning,  leaving  them  nothing,  in 
place  of  ail  this,  but  their  nets  and  rods,  and  fishers' 
garments.   Then  all  the  disciples  forsook  him,  and 


343 


fled.  Peter  returns,  indeed,  from  curiosity,  or  from 
personal  attachment ;  but  he  returns  only  to  deny  his 
master.  In  this  state  of  confusion  and  disappoint- 
ment, when  the  few  disciples  are  all  dispersed,  Jesus 
is  tried ;  and  the  unwillingness  of  Pilate,  the  last  hope 
of  his  friends,  avails  nothing  to  his  release ;  but  the 
new  founder  of  the  christian  faith,  without  resistance, 
surrenders  himself  to  crucifixion,  and  breathes  his 
last  breath  upon  the  cross.  Now,  I  ask,  where  was 
the  religion,  which  he  preached?  His  history  has  come 
to  a  close  ;  his  life  has  gone  out,  after  a  short  and 
dazzling  lustre  ;  his  religion  is  dissipated  with  his 
disciples  ;  and,  in  this  solemn  hour,  what  remained,  I 
ask,  of  Christianity  ?  Why  was  it  not,  at  that  mo- 
ment, obliterated  ?  Why  was  it  not  then  added  to  the 
funeral  pile  of  the  thousand  and  ten  thousand  sys- 
tems and  chimeras  of  the  human  mind  ?  The  triumph 
of  the  Jews  was,  at  that  moment,  complete.  Jesus 
had  expired  ;  and  the  gospel  appeared  to  have  sunk, 
never  again  to  rise. 

Wait  but  a  few  days,  and  a  man  arises,  in  the  midst 
of  an  assembly  of  thousands  of  hostile  Jews,  with 
confidence  in  his  features,  intrepidity  in  all  his  mo- 
tions, with  the  utmost  fluency,  sincerity,  gravity  and 
energy  of  speech.  He  begins  by  saying,  Ye  men  of 
Israel,  hear  these  words  :  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a  man 
approved  of  God  among  you  by  miracles,  and  won- 
ders, and  signs,  which  God  did  by  him  in  the  midst  of 
you,  as  ye  yourselves  also  know — him  being  deliv- 
ered by  the  determinate  council  of  God,  ye  have  tak-. 


343 


en,  and  by  wicked  bands  bave  crucified  and  slain ; 
this  Jesus  bath  God  raised  up,  whereof  we  all  are 
witnesses.  Therefore,  let  all  the  house  of  Israel 
know  assuredly,  that  God  hath  made  that  same  Je- 
sus, whom  ye  have  crucified,  both  Lord  an  J  Christ ; 
and  he  hath  shed  forth  this  spirit,  which  ye  now  see 
and  hear.  This  speech  is  delivered  in  the  presence 
of  eleven  other  men,  who  corroborate  every  fer»t  by 
their  own  testimony  of  the  same.  And  who  is  this 
man?  Who  are  these  men,  so  assuming,  so  presumptu- 
ous ?  Do  you  know,  that  this  man  is  Peter,  who,  but  a 
few  days  since,  denied  his  dying  master,  and  hid  him- 
self to  conceal  his  shame  ?  Do  you  know,  that  these 
are  the  same  men,  who  fled  in  all  directions  upon  the 
arrest  of  Jesus,  and  of  whom  we  hear  no  more,  till 
we  find  them  in  this  assembly  of  the  murderers  of 
their  leader  ?  I  have  a  right  to  ask  the  skeptick, 
whence  this  sudden  transformation  ?  Jesus,  you  say, 
is  dead ;  his  body  moulders  in  the  dust ;  his  resur- 
rection is  a  mere  fable.  Will  you  say,  that  they,  who 
followed  a  master  principally  for  the  rewards,  they 
expected,  when  he  was  alive,  were  thus  completely 
and  suddenly  changed  in  their  views,  their  hopes, 
their  intrepidity,  their  whole  character,  when  they 
knew,  that  he  was  dead,  and  was  still  lying  lifeless 
in  the  grave  ?  From  a  dead  man  what  had  they  to 
expect  ?  From  his  murderers  what  could  they  antici- 
pate, but  a  fate  similar  to  their  master  ?  I  have  a  right 
to  call  upon  the  skeptick  for  a  solution  of  this  diffi- 
culty.   I  have  a  right  to  demand  of  him,  to  inform 


341 

me,  why  the  religion  of  Jesus  was  not  utterly  extinct, 
when  he  was  dead  upon  the  cross,  and  his  disciples 
had  fled  in  consternation.  I  have  a  right  to  be  in- 
formed— if  Jesus  did  not  rise,  and  the  story  of  the 
apostles  is  a  fable — whence  is  it,  that  a  religion,  which 
contains  these  facts,  has  existed  through  eighteen  cen- 
turies, bumble  in  its  origin,  persecuted  in  its  progress, 
and  o;aining  strength  by  opposition  ?  How  was  it,  that 
twelve  cowardly  and  feeble  men  established  a  relig- 
ion in  the  centre  of  Jerusalem,  the  founder  of  which 
had  but  just  expired  in  the  shame  of  an  accursed  cru- 
cifixion ? 

You  may  say,  if  you  please,  that  it  was  enthusiasm 
and  fanaticism  in  the  apostles,  so  that  they  really  im- 
agined, that  they  saw  and  conversed  with  Jesus  after 
his  death;  and  were  not  guilty  of  falsehood,  but  were 
only  insane,  when  they  maintained  the  fact  of  the  re- 
surrection. But  what  enthusiasm  is  this,  which  could 
bring  together  twelve  men,  who  had  fled  in  conster- 
nation, and  induce  them  to  agree  in  a  consistent  and 
intelligible  story  ?  If  they  were  enthusiasts,  whence 
the  change  of  their  ideas  respecting  the  nature  of  our 
Saviour's  character ;  whence  this  new  direction  of 
their  views  ?  If  they  were  enthusiasts  merely,  it  is 
to  be  supposed,  they  would  be  enthusiasts  according 
to  their  old  notions,  and  that  a  little  of  that  suffering 
and  persecution,  to  which  they  were  soon  exposed, 
would  cure  them  of  their  madness.  But  the  most  pu- 
sillanimous of  men  are  converted  into  the  most  bold 
and  intrepid  \  the  most  ambitious  and  worldly,  into 


345 


the  most  spiritual,  disinterested  and  faithful.  They 
maintain,  through  the  greatest  sufferings — sufferings* 
such  as  they  once  could  not  think  of  with  patience — 
a  faith,  which  has  stood  to  the  present  hour,  and  will 
stand,  I  trust,  till  the  heavens  he  no  more. 

This  change,  then,  in  the  character  of  Peter  and 
the  disciples,  let  the  infidel  account  for,  if  he  can, 
without  admitting  that  fact,  which  is  the  basis  of  our 
religion.  If  the  fall  of  Peter  lends  any  confirmation  to 
the  truly  miraculous  nature  and  propagation  of  our 
religion,  he  did  not  fall  in  vain. 

We  have  learned  something,  then,  from  Peter's 
history,  in  aid  of  our  faith.  It  also  affords  instructions 
of  a  practical  nature.  It  gives  us  all  a  lesson  of  re- 
solution and  vigilance,  lest  we,  too,  fall  from  our 
steadfastness.  Let  no  christian  say,  that  he  can  never 
be  precisely  in  Peter's  situation,  and,  therefore,  that 
he  can  never  deny  a  master,  who  is  no  longer  present 
with  his  followers.  We  deny  him,  christians,  when 
Ave  suppress  our  secret  convictions  of  the  truth  of  his 
gospel,  and  would  make  the  world  believe,  that  we 
know  not  the  man.  We  deny  him,  when  we  attempt 
to  shake  off  the  restraints  of  his  laws,  or  bend  them 
to  a  more  convenient  standard ;  or  when  we  take 
pains  to  hide  the  few  peculiarities,  which  our  chris- 
tian education,  or  profession  of  the  gospel  yet  oblige 
us  to  retain.  We  deny  him,  when,  like  Peter,  we 
mingle  with  the  vicious  and  the  base,  endure  the  jests 
of  the  scorner,  and  the  licentiousness  of  the  man  of 
pleasure,  and,  lest  we  should  be  suspected  gf  rigour, 

<XA\ 


346 


or  of  superstition,  choose  not  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  promiscuous  multitude  of  worldly  men,  who  know 
not  their  God  and  their  Redeemer.  No,  it  is  not 
impossible  to  deny  our  master,  nor  is  it  easy  to  be  al- 
ways true  to  his  cause. 

It  seems,  indeed,  to  be  no  difficult  task,  to  be  a 
christian,  when  the  religion  is  creditable,  when  re- 
spect attends  upon  its  institutions,  and  men  throng  to 
the  temples,  and  the  profession  of  Christianity  leads 
to  publick  honours.  But,  my  hearers,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  struggles,  which  every  disciple  of  Jesus  has 
to  maintain  with  the  corruptions  of  his  own  heart, 
a  man  must  not  expect  to  be  a  christian,  even  in  the 
best  of  times,  without  suffering  some  reproach  from 
being  true  to  his  christian  principles.  The  standard 
of  the  world  is  low  and  variable ;  but  the  everlasting 
laws  of  christian  purity,  piety  and  benevolence  are 
not  affected  by  any  changes  of  manners,  or  fluctu- 
ations of  opinion.  The  gospel  stands,  in  the  midst 
of  the  tide  of  fashions  and  fancies,  the  measure  of  all 
opinions,  but  regulated  by  none.  He,  who  would  be 
faithful  to  this  religion,  cannot  pass  through  the 
world,  without  being  tempted  by  the  example  of  oth- 
ers, tried  by  many  severe  duties,  reproached  by  some, 
whom  he  wishes  to  love,  and  neglected  by  others, 
whom  a  little  sacrifice  of  his  principles  might  retain 
in  his  favour.  Let  him,  then,  be  vigilant  and  resolute. 

Again,  the  fall  of  Peter  teaches  a  lesson  of  humili- 
ty. If  there  are  any  presumptuous  and  enthusias- 
tick  christians  among  us,  they  may  learn  from  this 


347 


history,  that  they  are  not  the  most  secure.  Excessive 
confidence  in  religion  is  hardly  to  he  distinguished 
from  arrogance.    It  is  never  the  means,  and  seldom 
the  consequence  of  a  religious  life.    Let  us  not  trust, 
then,  too  much,  to  any  temporary  excitements  in  relig- 
ion ;  and  much  less  think  ourselves  secure,  because 
we  have  made  a  competent  profession  of  our  faith. 
Let  us  remember,  too,  that  no  man  is  allowed  to  make 
wanton  trial  of  his  faith  and  virtue.    A  man  may  be 
justly  left  to  be  overcome  by  a  trial,  which  he  has 
presumptuously   sought,  when  he  might  have  tri- 
umphed over  a  temptation,  and  stood  a  test,  which 
wras  presented  to  him  in  the  ordinary  course  of  Provi- 
dence.   The  spirit  of  the  christian  life  is,  indeed,  a 
spirit  of  power  and  fortitude  ;  but  it  is  always  joined 
with  humility,  distrust  of  one's  self,  humble  estimation 
of  our  own  powers,  and  deep  sensibility  to  the  infirm- 
ity of  human  virtue.    The  daily  prayer  of  the  chris- 
tian is  :  Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us 
from  evil.    Let  him,  who  thinketh,  lie  standeth,  take 
heed,  lest  he  fall. 

Again,  Ave  learn  from  the  history  of  Peter,  that, 
though  a  good  man  may  fall,  he  is  yet  distinguished 
by  tenderness  of  conscience,  and  deep  and  severe 
contrition.  Peter  went  out,  and  wept  bitterly,  and  re- 
turned to  his  master.  The  habitual  offender  may  re- 
gret his  sins,  because  he  retains  a  lurking  fear  of  their 
consequences.  But  the  good  man  suffers,  because  he 
feels  the  shame  and  ingratitude  of  his  offences.  He 
feels  a  stain,  as  he  would  a  wound,  though  the  world 


318 


may  not  have  discerned  the  blemish  ;  he  hopes  for 
pardon,  but  does  not  cease  to  mourn. 

To  conclude,  do  not  flatter  yourselves,  because  Pe- 
ter fell,  and  instantly  recovered,  that  he,  who  is  every 
day  sinking,  and  falling  from  his  fidelity,  is  to  be  as 
easily  recovered.  Contrition  may  purge  away  the 
occasional  lapses  of  a  man,  who  lives  the  life  of  a  dis- 
ciple ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  conceive,  how  the  effects  of 
a  depraved  life,  the  example  of  which  has  been  ex- 
tending and  operating  in  every  direction,  are  to  be 
expiated  or  removed  by  a  dying  hour  of  fear  and  sor- 
row,' however  deep,  however  painful.  Watch,  there- 
fore, and  pray,  that  ye  fall  not  into  temptation, 


V 


SERMON  XXI. 


EPH.  vi.  4. 

FATHERS,  PROVOKE  NOT  YOUR  CHILDREN  TO  WRATH  J  BUT 
BRING  THEM  UP  IN  THE  NURTURE  AND  ADMONITION  OF 
THE  LORD. 

THE  subject,  upon  which  I  am  about  to  address 
you,  my  friends,  needs  no  laboured  introduction.  I 
see  before  me  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  families,  who 
must,  ere  long,  resign  the  world  to  another  genera- 
tion ;  a  generation,  which  will  remember  them  with 
fruitless  reproaches,  or  everlasting  gratitude.  There 
are  among  us  thousands  of  young  creatures,  whom 
our  schools  and  colleges  and  families  are  pour- 
ing into  the  world  5  and  I  ask,  with  anxiety,  who 
is  responsible  to  the  God  of  nature,  and  to  the  world, 
for  these  daily  and  hourly  accessions  to  the  numbers 
of  society?  Life,  surely,  is  not  all,  that  you  are  to 
give  them  ;  support,  protection,  accomplishments  and 
estates  are  not  all,  that  you  owe  to  these  creatures  of 
your  affection.  For  the  time  is  coming,  when  all 
these  exteriour  appendages  to  life  will  be  heard  of 
no  more  5  the  grave  will  receive  your  children,  as  it 


350 


lias  their  fathers ;  the  accomplishments,  with  which 
you  decorate  them,  w  ill  have  fallen  off,  and  withered 
in  death  ;  even  the  strong  constitution  of  their  bodies 
will  have  crumbled  away  in  the  tomb  ;  the  possessions, 
which  they  have  inherited,  will  have  shrunk  into  the 
narrow  inclosure  of  a  coffin.  And  is  there  nothing 
more  ?  Surely,  I  see  them  existing  anew  in  another 
state,  whither  they  have  carried,  from  this  world,  the 
character  of  their  souls.  And  what  is  this,  and  whence 
came  it  ?  It  bears  your  stamp ;  it  proclaims  your  care, 
or  your  neglect ;  and,  in  their  destination,  you  may 
read  something  of  your  own. 

Fathers,  says  the  apostle  in  my  text,  bring  up  your 
children  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord. 
This,  surely,  can  be  interpreted  as  nothing  less,  than 
a  precept  for  the  religious  education  of  those,  who 
are  committed  to  your  care.  It  shall  be  my  present 
object,  then,  with  God's  blessing,  to  offer  you  some 
considerations  on  this  interesting  subject;  to  show 
you,  how  you  may  previously  secure  the  greatest 
weight  to  your  lessons ;  to  guard  you  against  some 
of  the  most  common  faults  in  this  branch  of  educa- 
tion ;  and  to  point  out  some  of  the  most  suitable  top- 
icks  and  modes  of  instruction.  These  are  the  three 
divisions  of  our  subject. 

I.  1.  If,  then,  parents,  you  would  train  your  chil- 
dren up  to  be  religious  beings,  and  give  the  greatest 
weight  to  your  instructions,  the  first  preliminary  un- 
doubtedly is,  that  they  should  have  the  highest  re- 
spect for  your  characters,  entire  confidence  in  your 


351 


knowledge,  and  an  affectionate  sense  of  your  regard 
for  their  everlasting  good.  To  any  species  of  edu- 
cation this  is  an  important  preliminary ;  but,  to  a 
christian  education,  it  is  indispensable.  This  early 
deference  to  the  character  of  the  parent,  it  is,  per- 
haps, the  more  necessary  to  inculcate,  as  the  progress 
of  manners  and  opinions,  for  many  years  past,  has 
tended  much  to  reduce  it.  If  you  would  preserve 
in  the  minds  of  your  offspring  this  permanent  con- 
fidence and  respect,  they  must  early  be  sensible  of  a 
control,  easy  and  equable,  impartial  and  systemat- 
ick.  You  must  not  fluctuate  in  your  rules,  or  coun- 
teract them  by  your  example.  Your  commands  must 
appear  the  result  of  affection ;  and,  especially,  your 
instructions  must  be  supported  and  enforced  by  a 
consistent  conduct.  For  what  is  more  idle,  than  to 
talk  seriously  to  your  children,  when  you  are  not  seri- 
ous yourselves  ;  or  to  recommend  to  their  regard  the 
interests  of  eternity,  when  they  see  you  exclusively  so- 
licitous for  their  present  gratification  ? 

2.  A  second  preliminary  to  the  religious  education  of 
children,  and  without  which  it  will  be  impossible,  I 
fear,  to  train  them  up  successfully  to  Christianity,  is, 
that,  from  their  earliest  years,  they  should  receive  a 
deep  impression  of  its  importance.  In  order  to  this, 
they  should  see,  that  Christianity  is  a  subject,  which  lies 
near  your  hearts ;  that  you  mention  not  the  name  of 
God  or  of  our  Saviour  without  respect ;  that  you  can- 
not easily  tolerate  in  your  presence  the  levity,  which 
treats  the  gospel  with  indifference,  or  the  impiety, 


352 


which  treats  it  with  contempt.  They  must  see,  that 
you  repair  with  delight  to  the  assembly  of  God's  wor- 
shippers, and  hear  you  often  acknowledging,  in  their 
presence,  the  obligation  and  the  pleasure  of  devotion. 
But,  nothing,  nothing,  which  I  can  recommend,  will 
tend  so  effectually  to  generate  this  early  sentiment  of 
reverence,  as  the  performance  of  family  devotion,  to 
which  your  children  should  be  admitted,  as  soon  as 
they  are  old  enough  not  to  interrupt  it.    This  will 
place  them,  even  in  infancy,  exposed  to  the  most  fa- 
vourable impressions,  and  the  kindest  influences  of 
grace.    Religion  will  make  a  part  of  their  notion  of 
life,  and  of  their  course  of  conduct :  Christianity  will 
seem  to  them,  from  the  first,  as  a  necessary  circum- 
stance in  the  character. 

3.  A  third  preliminary  to  the  religious  instruction 
of  your  children,  of  not  less  importance  to  give  your 
lessons  their  due  weight,  is  this,  that  they  should 
clearly  see,  that  it  is  your  religion,  which  is  the  source 
of  all  that  they  respect  in  your  character,  and  is  the 
spring  of  the  tranquillity  and  happiness  of  your  life. 
This  latter  circumstance  is  especially  important  ;  for, 
if  your  religion  does  not  make  you  happy,  you  can- 
not expect,  that  your  mere  lessons  should  be  favour- 
ably received.  Let  them  see,  then,  ye  fond  parents, 
that  it  is  here,  you  derive  your  purest  pleasures,  and 
your  surest  consolations.  If  they  discover,  that  reli- 
gion appears  to  be  an  interruption  to  your  ordinary 
course  of  life  ;  that  it  comes  in  only  at  stated  times,  to 
chill  all  your  animation,  and  congeal  the  flow  of  your 


253 


enjoyment,  how  can  it  ever  be  recommended  to  their 
gay  and  pleasurable  spirits  ?  It  will  appear  to  them  as 
nothing  better,  than  a  severe  pedagogue,  coming,  with 
its  tasks,  its  rods,  and  its  rules,  to  interrupt  the  festiv- 
ities of  life.  Let  them  see,  then,  I  say,  that  your  re- 
ligion is  the  source  of  complacent  and  amiable  dispo- 
sitions. When  you  talk  to  them  of  God,  let  your 
countenance  light  up  ;  let  them  see,  that  you  take 
pleasure  in  referring  all  your  enjoyments  to  his  boun- 
ty, and  that  you  feel  inexpressible  consolation  in  com- 
mending them  to  his  care.  Let  them  discover,  that  you 
have  a  perpetual  confidence  in  his  protection ;  and,  if 
ever  you  find  yourselves  with  them  in  circumstances 
of  anxiety  and  impending  danger,  they  should  be  im- 
pressed with  the  conviction,  that  your  tranquillity  re- 
sults from  a  consciousness  of  his  presence,  under 
whose  overshadowing  wing  they  and  you  are  de- 
fended. , 

4.  Lastly,  all  these  advantages  will  be  of  little 
value,  unless  you  begin  w  ith  them,  as  soon  as  they  are 
susceptible  of  instruction.  As  I  have  repeatedly 
touched  upon  this  subject  before,  I  will  say  little, 
now,  on  the  necessity  of  early  education.  But,  if  any 
thing  should  be  taught  soon,  it  is  surely  that,  which 
ought  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  cup  will  be  tinc- 
tured with  the  liquor,  which  it  first  receives.  The 
earliest  age  is  that,  which  imbibes  the  most  copiously, 
and  retains  the  longest.  If,  then,  you  would  succeed 
in  training  them  up  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of 
the  Lord,  begin  before  the  heart  is  hardened  by  preju- 
45 


35$ 


dices,  or  polluted  with  vice.  If  you  intend  them  to 
be  christians,  let  them  know  it,  as  soon  as  they  can 
understand  the  idea  of  a  God  ;  let  them  know,  as 
soon  as  the  intellect  expands,  that  there  are  some 
truths,  eternal  and  immutable,  which  are  never  to  de- 
sert them ;  truths,  which  time  has  sanctioned,  genius 
embraced,  learning  illustrated,  piety  cherished,  and 
the  world  reverenced,  in  every  age.  The  first  light, 
w  hich  strikes  them,  should  be  the  light  of  heaven.  The 
mind  will  be  preoccupied,  if  you  are  a  moment  idle. 
The  mind  of  the  child  cannot  be  shut  up,  till  you  are 
ready  to  furnish  it.  No  !  strange  prejudices,  and 
curious  and  unaccountable  opinions  will  gain  an  early 
ascendency  in  the  neglected  understanding  of  your 
children  ;  and,  though  it  is  hard  to  make  them  learn, 
you  will  find  it  still  harder  to  make  them  forget  what 
they  should  not  have  received. 

II.  I  proceed,  now,  agreeably  to  our  plan,  to 
point  out  some  of  the  most  common  mistakes  on  this 
subject  of  the  religious  education  of  the  young. 

1.  The  first  is,  an  opinion,  which  too  easily  prevails, 
that  the  habits  only  of  your  children  are  to  be  regard- 
ed, and  that,  in  time,  principles  will  follow  of  course  ; 
that,  if  they  only  learn  to  behave  well,  it  is  of  little 
importance  to  trouble  their  weak  heads  with  reasons, 
or  to  furnish  them  with  a  stronger  argument,  than 
the  example,  or  the  command  of  their  parents.  But 
who  does  not  know,  that  habits,  unsupported  by  prin- 
ciples, are,  even  in  the  maturest  mind,  the  most  pre- 
carious and  insecure  of  our  possessions  ?  As  soon  as 


355 


you  change  your  child's  company,  if  you  have  left  him 
without  instruction,  you  change  his  character.  Send 
him  from  his  father's  house,  and  you  send  him,  inno- 
cent, indeed,  but  naked  and  unshielded,  into  the  midst 
of  enemies  in  ambush,  and  weapons  flying  in  mid  air. 
An  amiable  temper,  unfortified  by  principles,  and  good 
habits,  strong  only  because  they  have  not  been  tried, 
are  the  richest  and  the  easiest  prey  of  the  polluting 
harpies  of  profligate  society.  A  child  may  uniformly 
speak  the  truth,  because  it  has  been  your  maxim  in  its 
education,  that  it  should  never  be  exposed  to  the 
temptation  of  a  lie  ;  but  how  much  more  secure  is  the 
honesty  of  that  child,  who  has  been  taught,  that  there 
is  a  God  in  heaven,  who,  afar  off,  discerns  even  an 
equivocation,  and  a  world  to  come,  where  all  false- 
hood will  be  disclosed.  Indeed,  parents,  to  be  care- 
ful of  forming  your  children  to  correct  habits  and 
fair  demeanour,  without  implanting  early  principles  of 
piety,  is  nothing  better,  than  raising  the  walls  of  a 
citadel,  which  you  intend  to  leave  ungai'risoned,  un- 
eommanded. 

2.  A  second  mistake  on  the  subject  of  education 
is,  that,  because  many  of  the  subjects  of  religiou 
are  beyond  the  capacity  of  children,  to  instruct  them 
in  Christianity  is  only  to  load  their  memories  with 
words,  and,  by  the  irksomeness  of  such  a  lesson,  to 
give  rise  to  an  antipathy,  which,  in  after  life,  may  ex- 
tend to  every  thing,  which  wears  the  complexion  of 
seriousness.  But,  even  if  it  should  be  granted,  that  the 
primary  truths  of  religion  were  not  completely  intelli- 


356 


gible  to  the  youthful  capacity,  it  "ought  not  to  be  there- 
fore inferred,  that  tuition  is  vain.  In  many  branches 
of  human  learning  we  acknowledge  it  enough,  that 
the  memory  is  stored  with  rules,  the  reasons  of  which 
remain  to  be  explained  ;  with  facts,  the  application  of 
which  lies  beyond  the  present  reach  of  their  capaci- 
ties ;  and  with  words,  which  shall  only  facilitate  the 
future  progress  of  the  understanding,  and  be  used  in 
the  future  operations  of  the  intellect.  Of  this  kind  is 
the  far  greater  part  of  the  studies,  which  employ  the 
first  years  of  children.  Indeed,  if  every  kind  of  in- 
struction were  deferred,  till  its  nature  and  use  could 
be  completely  understood  by  the  pupil,  we  should 
soon  be  overwhelmed  by  a  race  of  barbarians ;  and 
the  next  generation  would  find  themselves  thousands 
of  years  behind  their  progenitors. 

But,  in  fact,  the  principles  of  our  religion  are  some 
of  the  most  simple  and  intelligible,  which  can  be  pro- 
posed to  the  human  mind.  Is  there  any  tiling  so  pe- 
culiar, so  transcendently  incomprehensible  in  the  ob- 
ligations of  your  children  to  their  Creator,  that  these 
cannot  be  explained  and  illustrated  by  their  obliga- 
tions to  yourselves  ?  Must  they  be  able  to  conceive 
distinctly  of  what  is  meant  by  spirit,  by  omnipresence, 
!>y  eternity,  before  they  can  learn  to  fear  and  love 
their  Father  who  is  in  heaven  ?  What  if  they  do 
cherish  some  gross  and  corporeal  notions  of  God, 
they  are  only  a  little  less  imperfect  than  our  own. 
Or  must  they  be  able  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  evi- 
dence, nicely  to  balance  probabilities,  and  decide  on 


357 


the  relative  value  of  testimony,  and  the  miracles  of 
Christ,  before  you  will  venture  to  tell  them  of  his 
death  and  resurrection,  or  hold  up  to  their  opening 
imaginations  the  solemnities  of  a  judgment,  and  a  re- 
tribution to  come  ? 

3.  A  third  mistake  on  this  subject  is,  that,  to  fur- 
nish children  early  with  religious  ideas,  is  to  infuse 
into  them  prejudices  ;  as  if  a  creature,  introduced,  as 
man  is,  into  the  world,  helpless,  unfurnished,  de- 
pendent, and  inexperienced,  could  live,  or  act,  or 
think,  a  single  day,  without  the  aid  of  some  kind  of 
prejudices.  This  mistake,  indeed,  would  be  hardly 
worth  rectifying,  had  it  not  been,  sometimes,  ad- 
vanced as  a  serious  objection  against  every  kind  of 
religious  instruction.  Prejudice  is  an  unexamined 
opinion.  Now  the  slightest  observation  discovers, 
that  such  is  the  condition  of  man,  and  such  the  pro- 
gressive nature  of  his  powers,  from  their  feebleness  in 
infancy  to  their  maturity  in  manhood,  that  it  is  a  law 
of  his  condition,  which  omnipotence  only  can  abro- 
gate, that,  during  the  years  of  childhood,  he  should 
depend  on  authority,  and  lean  on  the  understandings 
of  others.  His  opinions,  during  this  period,  in  dis- 
tinction from  his  knowledge,  can  be  nothing,  and 
ought  to  be  nothing,  but  prepossessions.  And  do  you 
think,  that,  by  withholding  from  him  instruction  on 
subjects  of  religion,  you  secure  him,  for  any  season, 
from  the  slavery  of  prejudice  ?  Believe  me,  by  this 
very  neglect,  you  infuse  into  his  susceptible  mind  one 
of  the  most  baneful  and  captivating  of  prejudices  ;  for 


358 


you  tempt  hiin  unavoidably  to  this  dangerous  con- 
clusion, that  religious  opinions  are  unworthy  his  con- 
cern, or  make  no  part  of  his  interests,  and  are  un- 
necessary, or  unimportant  to  society.  Besides,  do 
you  think,  that  no  prejudices  will  grow  up  and  de- 
form his  fruitful  mind,  of  which  you  have  not  drop- 
ped the  seeds  ?  Think  you,  the  opinions,  he  will  en- 
tertain on  these  subjects — opinions,  which  he  will 
gather  from  his  first  intercourse  with  society — will 
possess  less  of  the  nature  of  prejudices,  than  those, 
which  might  have  been  instilled  by  parental  affection, 
and  enforced  by  parental  authority  ?  I  fear,  you  will 
be  disappointed. 

But  on  what  other  subject,  which  concerns  the  for- 
mation of  the  minds  of  children,  do  you  make  so  ab- 
surd a  mistake  ?  Wherein  do  you  forbear  to  tincture 
their  tender  minds  with  your  own  opinions  ?  It  is  not 
politicks.  We  early  hear  them  lisping  out  your  an- 
tipathies, and  repeating  on  this  subject,  as  they  grow 
older,  your  oracular  decisions.  It  is  not  literature. 
The  earliest  care  is  taken  to  form  their  rising  taste 
on  established  principles,  and  to  lead  them  to  the 
perception  of  beauties,  which  have  been  sanctioned 
by  the  concurrent  praise  of  successive  generations. 
These  are  prejudices,  which  you  think  you  cannot 
too  early,  or  too  plentifully  pour  into  their  empty 
minds.  And  are  the  elements  of  the  religion  of 
Christ  less  fixed,  than  the  principles  of  taste,  less 
certain,  than  the  doctrines  of  party  ?  Why  must  these 
alone  be  picked  up  by  chance,  or  be  left  to  be  gath- 


359 

ered  by  your  children,  at  an  age,  when  all  their  hab- 
its shall  be  formed,  all  their  prejudices  rooted,  and 
parental  recommendation  have  lost  its  supreme  au- 
thority ?  The  same  motives,  which  induce  you  to  in- 
form your  child  of  the  being  of  a  God,  and  of  his 
universal  presence — truths,  which  you  will  call,  per- 
haps, the  uneorrupted  dictates  of  natural  religion — 
should  also  induce  you  to  instruct  him  in  the  facts, 
the  nature,  and  the  precepts  of  Christianity  ;  for,  let 
me  assure  you,  that  the  difficulties  and  doubts,  which 
respect  the  simple  being  and  providence  of  a  God, 
are  much  greater,  and  more  numerous,  than  the  dif- 
ficulties, which  belong  to  revelation,  after  the  exist- 
ence of  a  God  is  once  granted.  In  the  undistinguish- 
ing  mind  of  a  child,  these  truths  are  all  equally  pre- 
judices ;  and  they  are  noble  ones  too.  They  are  pre- 
judices, for  which  all  nature  cries  aloud  through  all 
her  works ;  prejudices,  which  past  experience,  from 
ten  thousand  tongues,  calls  upon  you  to  inculcate.  You 
will  not,  indeed,  enforce  doubtful,  or  merely  specula- 
tive opinions  ;  but  you  cannot  do  wrong  in  instruct- 
ing your  children  in  those  principles,  which  have  an 
immediate  influence  on  their  conduct.  It  is  true,  that, 
through  your  want  of  caution,  they  may  find  here- 
after, that  much,  which  they  received  from  you,  must 
be  relinquished  as  doubtful ;  and  you  should  remem- 
ber, with  solemnity,  that  this  discovery  will  give  a 
shock  to  their  whole  system  of  belief,  proportioned 
to  the  importance  of  your  mistakes.    But  it  is  better, 
that  they  should  encounter  even  this  hazard,  than 


860 

I  hat  they  should  rush,  unprincipled,  upon  the  world, 
in  all  the  presumptuous  poverty  of  skepticism. 

4.  Another  most  unfortunate  errour  upon  this  sub- 
ject is  this,  that  your  children  will  certainly  acquire 
at  school,  and  by  the  publick  institutions  of  the  gos- 
pel, an  adequate  sentiment  and  knowledge  of  relig- 
ious truths,  without  the  necessity  of  your  interference. 
It  is  not  necessary,  you  think,  to  waste  your  oAvn 
time  in  giving  supplementary  lessons  ;  for,  on  this 
subject,  as  on  every  part  of  education,  the  progress 
of  the  child  is  provided  for  in  the  customary  way. 
This  mistake,  if  indeed  it  can  be  called  one,  baffles 
all  exposure.  For,  if  any  thing  in  life  deserves  to 
be  considered  as  at  once  the  exquisite  bliss,  and  pre- 
eminent duty  of  a  pareut,  it  is  this  :  to  watch  the 
dawning  disposition  and  capacity  of  a  favourite  child ; 
to  discover  the  earliest  buds  of  thought ;  to  feed  with 
useful  truths  the  inquisitiveness  of  a  young  and  cu- 
rious mind  5  to  direct  the  eyes,  yet  unsullied  with  the 
waters  of  contrition,  to  a  bounteous  benefactor ;  to 
lift  the  little  hands,  yet  unstained  with  vice,  in  pray- 
er to  their  Father  who  is  in  heaven.  But  so  it  is. 
The  child,  as  soon  as  it  is  released  from  the  bondage 
of  the  nurse,  and  needs  no  longer  a  careful  eye  to 
look  after  its  steps  and  guard  it  from  external  in- 
jury, is  too  often  surrendered  to  instructers,  some  of 
whom  are  employed  to  polish  the  surface  of  the  char- 
acter, and  regulate  the  motions  of  the  limbs,  others, 
to  furnish  the  memory,  and  accomplish  the  imagina- 
tion, while  religion  gets  admission  as  she  can;  some- 


361 


times  in  aid  of  authority,  and  sometimes  as  a  Sat- 
urday's task,  or  a  Sunday's  peculiarity,  but  how 
rarely  as  a  sentiment.  Their  little  hearts  are  made 
to  flutter  with  vanity,  encouraged  to  pant  with  emula- 
tion, persuaded  to  contract  with  parsimony,  allowed 
to  glow  with  revenge,  or  reduced  to  absolute  numb- 
ness by  worldliness  and  cares,  before  they  have  ever 
felt  a  sentiment  of  devotion,  or  beat  with  a  pulsation 
of  sorrow  for  an  offence,  or  gratitude  for  a  benefit, 
in  the  presence  of  God.  Believe  me,  parents,  you 
have  no  right  to  expect,  that  the  sense  of  religion  will 
be  infused  by  the  labours  of  others.  It  is  peculiarly 
the  business — I  should  say,  the  pleasure  of  the  par- 
ent. So  natural  is  the  transition,  from  filial  duty 
and  filial  affection,  to  those  sentiments,  which  ought 
to  be  cherished  toward  the  Father  of  mercies,  that 
any  teacher,  whether  in  the  pulpit  or  the  school, 
who  is  not  aided  by  parental  cooperation,  must  de- 
spair of  excitiug  sentiments  of  piety,  or  of  impressing 
principles  of  religion  in  the  youthful  mind.  But  if, 
beside  supplying  your  deficiencies,  he  must,  also, 
counteract  your  example,  he  will  not,  indeed,  lose 
his  reward  hereafter^  but  he  will  look  in  vain  for  any 
present  success.  Abjure,  then,  I  beseech  you,  the 
delusions,  that  your  children  are  learning  all  that  is 
necessary  of  Christianity,  without  any  encouragement 
or  instruction  from  yourselves.  When  parents  have 
ceased  to  be  teachers,  religion  has  ceased  to  be 
taught* 

16 


362 


III.  Though  I  have  by  no  means  exhausted  this 
second  branch  of  my  subject,  the  time  compels  me  to 
add  something  on  the  third  and  last  division :  that 
is,  the  most  proper  topicks  and  modes  of  religious 
instruction. 

1.  You  will,  at  once,  perceive,  that  you  should 
never  begin  with  what  is  most  difficult.    It  is  not  of 
so  much  importance,  what  particular  manual  of  in- 
struction you  adopt,  as  that  it  should  contain  those 
facts  and  doctrines,  which  have  the  most  direct  in- 
fluence on  conduct,  and  are  expressed  in  the  most 
perspicuous  language.    It  is  of  primary  importance, 
that  you  make  your  children  feel  their  perpetual  de- 
pendence upon  God,  and  acknowledge  his  continual 
omnipresence,  in  the  darkness   and  in  the  light, 
through  the  night  and  through  the  day,  at  home  and 
abroad,  in  solitude  and  in  the  presence  of  numbers, 
marking  every  action  they  perform,  understanding  all 
their  petty  concealments,  comprehending  all  their 
subtile  equivocations,  overhearing  all  their  profane 
or  untrue  expressions.    They  can  easily  understand, 
that  there  is  one  being,  whom  they  cannot  deceive. 
Teach  them,  also,  to  refer  all  the  little  innocent  plea- 
sures, which  they  enjoy,  to  a  benefactor  superiour  to 
yourselves,  and  to  bear  their  little  disappointments,  as 
tending,  ultimately,  to  their  greater  enjoyment.  Sure- 
ly, nothing  can  be  easier,  than,  before  the  mind  has 
learned  to  pry  into  secondary  causes,  to  teach  them 
to  feel  their  immediate  dependence  on  a  superiour 


303 


power.  By  frequently  comparing,  also,  their  duties 
and  sentiments  toward  God  with  their  relation  to 
yourselves,  you  have  certainly  a  most  efficacious  in- 
strument of  religious  impression. 

2.  In  the  next  place,  you  will  find,  that  the  facts 
and  narratives  in  the  scripture  arc  level  to  their  ca- 
pacities, and  interesting  to  their  feelings.  They  can 
early  sympathize  with  the  sufferings  of  our  Saviour, 
early  be  impressed  with  the  wonders  of  his  miracu- 
lous wrorks  ;  and  their  questions  will  soon  afford  you 
opportunity  to  explain,  in  the  most  intelligible  man- 
ner, how  he  was  the  saviour  and  benefactor  of  our 
race.  They  can  understand  the  deplorable  situation 
of  mankind,  at  the  time  of  his  appearance  in  the 
world,  and  the  love  of  the  Father,  in  sending  him,  at 
that  moment,  to  enlighten  and  redeem  it.  They  can 
understand  the  high  character  of  his  obedience,  and 
the  merit  of  his  painful  sufferings  and  death.  When 
they  have  once  seen  an  instance  of  dissolution,  and 
have  conceived  an  idea  of  the  loss  of  life,  they  can 
be  made  to  understand  what  Jesus  has  promised 
to  those,  who  obey  him,  and  that  he  himself  rose 
Prom  the  dead,  as  an  example,  and  a  pledge  of  the 
life,  that  he  promises  to  the  good.  They  can  easily 
understand  the  wonderful  excellence  of  the  Redeem- 
er's character,  and,  no  doubt,  they  may  be  made  to 
feel,  that  it  consisted  in  great  benevolence,  meekness, 
patience,  condescension  and  devotion.  They  will,  at 
once,  discover,  also,  that  the  Bible  is  a  book  of  a  pe- 
culiar character  $  and  it  is  not  difficult,  to  generate  in 


364 


tlieir  minds  a  reverence  for  its  sentiments  and  style, 
They  should  be  directed  to  the  most  touching  repre- 
sentations, and  the  most  moral  stories  \  and  you  will 
find  them  susceptible  of  the  best  impressions'. 

But,  to  preserve  in  their  minds  an  habitual  sense  of 
religion,  even  from  their  infancy,  there  is  nothing 
more  salutary,  than  to  accustom  them  to  private  pray- 
er. Bo  not  imagine,  that  it  is  necessary  to  confine  them 
always  to  a  certain  form  ;  nor  satisfy  yourselves,  that 
it  is  sufficient  to  hear  them  repeat  the  Lord's  pray- 
er, morning  and  evening.  You  will  find,  that  they 
can,  much  sooner  than  you  imagine,  m  Ike  little 
prayers  of  their  own,  however  short  or  incoherent 
they  may,  at  first,  appear.  O,  ye  parents,  if  you  were 
sufficiently  interested  in  this  most  interesting  of  sub- 
jects, you  would  early  aid  their  thoughts,  and  help 
out  their  imperfect  petitions,  and  accustom  them  to 
pray  for  themselves,  instead  of  hearing  them  repeat, 
forever,  a  form,  which  they  either  do  not  understand, 
or  utter  unconsciously.  But  I  must  leave  the  sub- 
ject to  your  own  good  sense,  aided  by  a  deep  con- 
viction of  the  importance  of  religion,  and  of  early 
religion. 

Before  I  conclude,  however,  I  cannot  but  make  one 
remark,  of  great  practical  importance,  that,  though  a 
child  may  be  secured  from  the  contagion  of  innumera- 
ble examples  of  depravity  in  others,  one  unequivocal 
violation  of  rectitude,  discovered  in  the  parent,  may 
paralyze  the  influence  of  all  past,  and  all  future  in- 
struction. What,  then,  is  not  to  be  apprehended  from 


365 

an  habitual  transgression  of  the  laws  of  virtue.  You 
cannot,  you  will  not  put  lessons  into  your  children's 
hands,  every  line  of  which  condemns  you ;  you  will 
not  hear  them  read  from  books,  whose  pure  pages 
make  you  blush ;  you  will  not  teach  them  prayers, 
who  never  heard  you  pray  ;  nor  send  them  regularly 
to  the  weekly  services  of  the  sanctuary,  to  see  your 
seats  empty,  and  hear  your  irreligious  habits  con- 
demned. This,  I  acknowledge,  would  be  too  much 
to  expect  of  you.  Walk,  then,  within  your  houses, 
with  a  perfect  heart.  Then  may  you  teach  diligent- 
ly to  your  children  the  holy  truths  and  precepts  of 
your  religion.  You  will  neither  be  unwilling  to  talk 
of  them,  when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house,  when  thou 
walkest  by  the  way,  when  thou  liest  down,  and  when 
thou  risest  up ;  that  the  generations  to  come  may 
know  them,  even  the  children,  which  shall  be  born, 
that  they  may  arise  and  declare  them  to  their  chil- 
dren, and  their  children  to  another  generation. 


• 


SERMON  XXIL 


DEUT.  xxxiii.  29. 

HAPPY   ART    THOU,  O  ISRAEL  ;  WHO   IS  LIKE  UNTO  THEE  ? 

THE  proclamation  of  the  chief  magistrate,  and 
the  long  continued  custom  of  this  part  of  the  union 
invite  us  once  more,  my  christian  friends,  to  cast  a 
retrospective  look  of  gratitude  upon  our  publick  bles- 
sings. It  cannot  be  very  dissonant  to  the  spirit  of  this 
institution  of  annual  thanksgiving,  to  devote  the  hour,  s 
which  is  occupied  in  the  instructions  of  the  pulpit,  to 
some  considerations  on  the  peculiar  circumstances, 
which  distinguish  this  country  from  older  and  dis- 
tant nations  ;  especially,  if  we  endeavour  to  ascertain 
and  to  acknowledge  those  advantages  for  moral  and 
religious  excellence,  which  are  afforded  by  its  ex- 
traordinary position.  The  very  multitude  of  our 
privileges,  and  especially  their  commonness  and  ap- 
parent security  diminish,  in  some  degree,  the  feel- 
ings of  attention  and  interest,  which  they  ought  to 
excite.  Absorbed,  as  we  all  are,  in  the  pursuits  of 
private  emolument,  we  too  often  lose  sight  of  those 


367 


publick,  but  not  less  distinguished  advantages  of  our 
situation,  which  frequently  furnish  the  only,  or  the  pri- 
mary ground  of  individual  improvement  and  happi- 
ness. It  is  true,  we  unavoidably  feel,  with  peculiar 
gratitude,  the  value  of  our  personal  blessings  ;  but  it 
would  be  unpardonable,  to  be  always  inattentive  to 
those  publick  privileges,  which,  though  we  share  them 
with  many  millions,  may  yet  constitute  our  most  envia- 
ble advantages.  It  is  my  intention,  this  morning,  with 
diffidence,  to  consider,  under  several  heads,  some  of  the 
circumstances  in  the  situation  of  this  country,  which 
are  favourable  to  great  moral  and  religious  eminence  ; 
and  to  suggest,  under  each  topick,  such  serious  consid- 
erations, as  are  suited  to  the  religious  nature  of  the 
present  occasion. 

Omitting,  as  subjects  too  extensive  for  a  single  dis- 
course, the  blessings  of  Christianity  and  civil  liberty, 
the  advantage,  which  I  shall  first  mention,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  novelty  and  youth  of  our  institutions* 
We  may  begin  to  build  upon  the  experience  of  former 
ages,  and  older  countries,  with  all  the  privileges,  and 
all  the  spirit  of  new  experiment.  Young  institutions 
are  flexible,  and  may  be  easily  contrived  to  meet  the 
exigencies  of  circumstances,  as  they  rise.  To  say 
nothing  of  our  political  institutions,  which  are,  in 
truth,  the  most  hazardous  of  our  experiments — which, 
from  the  very  nature  of  our  government,  every  one 
feels  himself  called  upon  to  scrutinize,  and  quite  able 
to  adjust — experiments,  which,  God  grant,  our  folly 
may  never  defeat,  let  us  attend  to  those  establish- 


368 


rnents,  which  have  learning,  publick  utility,  religion 
and  charity  for  their  objects.  In  the  countries  of 
Europe,  the  usefulness  of  this  kind  of  institutions  is 
inconceivably  diminished  by  the  circumstance  of  their 
v  antiquity,  and  the  character  of  the  times,  in  which 
they  were  founded.  The  munificence  of  truly  pious 
benefactors  was  often  directed  to  the  most  worthless 
objects.  Estates  have  been  bestowed  upon  mon- 
astiek  and  unprofitable  foundations  ;  legacies  have 
been  left  to  keep  up  the  repetition  of  the  most  idle  su- 
perstitions ;  the  bounty  of  princes  and  states  has  been 
wasted  upon  establishments,  which  the  change  of 
manners,  the  progress  of  literature,  and  the  growing 
culture  of  the  human  mind  have  rendered  heavy  in- 
cumbrances. In  truth,  it  may  be  safely  asserted,  that 
more  than  half  of  the  noblest  generosity  of  centuries 
has  been  entirely  unprofitable.  Some  institutions 
have  grown  into  nuisances,  from  the  very  accumula- 
tion of  their  wealth  ;  and  it  is  too  often  true,  that  the 
danger  of  reform  is  more  to  be  dreaded,  than  the  in- 
convenience of  enduring  abuses.  Ignorant  regula- 
tions, absurd  restrictions,  or  repeated  mal-administra- 
tion  have  continued  to  abridge  the  value  of  so  many 
magnificent  establishments,  that  we  are  almost  ready 
to  weep  at  the  splendid  waste  of  publick  charities 
and  private  virtues.  We  look  upon  these  establish- 
ments, as  we  do  upon  the  cumbrous  Grothick  piles, 
with  which  they  are  so  often  connected  ;  piles, 
which  time  is  continually  impairing,  while  every  suc- 
cessive year  leads  us  to  lament,  that  with  all  their 


369 


solitary  grandeur,  they  should  continue  so  cold,  so 
uncomfortable,  so  dilapidated,  unlit  for  the  purpose 
of  habitation,  and  standing  in  worthless  grandeur  on- 
ly to  engage  the  curiosity  of  the  antiquarian,  or 
ainnse  a  casual  spectator. 

My  friends,  a  vast  range  of  benefits  is  open  before 
you  in  the  publiekspirited  establishment  of  institutions, 
which  shall  continue  favourable  to  the  best  interests 
of  the  community  through  many  successive  genera- 
tions. Let  no  man  consider  himself  uninterested  in 
the  future  influence  of  any  rising  institution.  The 
man  of  letters  has  something,  for  which  he  is  responsi- 
ble,  in  every  literary  project;  the  busy  and  active,  in  ev- 
ery new  plan  of  publick  utility.  The  rich  and  benev- 
olent arc  answerable  for  our  charitable  foundations  ; 
and  every  man  has  something,  for  which  he  is  interest- 
ed, in  our  religious  institutions.  We  have  opportuni- 
ties every  day  of  affecting  the  moral  and  social  char- 
acter of  the  next,  and  consequently  of  more  remote  gen- 
erations. Especially,  let  us  remember  the  vast  impor- 
tance of  our  establishments  for  education,  the  intimate 
connexion,  which  exists  between  knowledge  and  vir- 
tue, between  learning  and  the  cause  of  pure  Christianity* 

Let  us  beware  of  imagining,  however,  that  be- 
cause our  institutions  are  young,  they  are,  therefore, 
free  from  defect.  There  is  need  of  experience,  as 
well  as  of  youthful  vigour  ;  and  it  is  possible,  that,  by 
multiplying  too  fast  seminaries  of  education  and  in- 
stitutions of  publick  good,  we  are  misapplying  talents 
and  munificence,  which  might  be  more  usefully  em- 
47 


370 

ployed  in  enlarging,  encouraging,  and  improving  old- 
er establishments. 

A  second  circumstance  in  the  situation  of  this  coun- 
try, favourable  to  moral  and  religious  eminence,  is,  the 
equal  distribution  and  abundance  of  the  means  of  gene- 
ral competency.  No  man  is  here  condemned,  by  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  birth,  to  hopeless  want,  or  to  shame- 
less mendicity.    Temptations  to  fraud  are  not  suggest- 
ed in  this  country  by  the  desperateness  of  any  man's 
circumstances,  but  by  the  opportunity  of  great  and  al- 
luring gains.    So  equally  are  our  advantages  distri- 
buted, that  every  man,  in  every  rank  of  life,  is  neces- 
sarily taught,  by  some  of  the  earliest  lessons  of  com- 
mercial experience,  the  indispensable  value  of  indus- 
try, integrity  in  his  dealings,  and  the  strictest  fidelity 
and  honour  in  his  trusts.    The  weight  of  opulent  op- 
pression is  not  even  felt  ;  and  the  sins,  which  vast 
monopolies  of  wealth,  or  great  inequalities  in  the 
means  of  different  classes  too  often  generate,  are, 
we  trust,  here  known  only  by  report.    In  countries, 
where  the  distinctions  of  hereditary  wealth  have 
been  augmenting  through  successive  ages,  the  temp- 
tations to  excessive  luxury,  sensuality,  idleness  and 
imperious  rule  are  hardly  to  be  resisted  among  the 
great ;  and  the  conscience  of  the  stranger  stands  aghast 
at  the  depravity,  which  brutalizes  the  lowest  orders. 
There  are  countries,  where  myriads  of  the  inhabitants 
have  not  the  smallest  stake  in  the  community,  and 
where  many  thousands  of  wretches  are  continued  in 
being  for  no  other  purpose,  as  it  would  appear,  than 


371 


to  prey  upon  the  charity,  or  the  unsuspecting  kind- 
ness of  others.  Reduce  any  class  of  men  to  inevitable 
want  and  hopeless  depression,  and  all  the  powers  of 
their  minds — powers,  which  must  in  some  way  or  other 
he  exerted — are  bent  to  the  contrivances  of  petty 
fraud,  or  the  accomplishment  of  more  desperate 
crimes.  It  too  often  happens,  also,  that  the  chari- 
ties, which  the  increasing  poor  of  a  country  demand, 
though  highly  honourable  to  the  character  of  the  na- 
tion that  bestows  them,  tend  to  perpetuate  the  evil, 
they  are  designed  to  relieve.  My  friends,  you  can- 
not be  too  highly  grateful  for  a  constitution  of  society, 
which  secures  to  the  poor  his  earnings,  and  protects 
the  rich  in  his  hereditary  possessions  ;  which  opens 
sources  of  competence  to  every  class  of  the  communi- 
ty, and  affords  the  enterprizing  spirit  opportunities  of 
opulence. 

A  third  circumstance,  which  you  mast  allow- me  to 
mention,  as  favourable  to  the  moral  purity  and  reli- 
gious character  of  our  uation,  is,  the  comparative  thin- 
ness of  our  population.  We  are  no  where  grouped, 
like  the  inhabitants  of  older  countries,  in  large  mass- 
es, but  diffused  over  a  prodigious  breadth  of  soil.  In- 
deed, from  the  great  extent  of  our  sea-coast,  and  the 
multitude  of  our  commodious  harbours,  it  is  not  to  be 
feared,  that  we  shall  soon  have  to  lament  the  corrup- 
tion and  the  miseries  of  an  overgrown  metropolis. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  say,  that  great  virtues  are  not  of- 
ten the  peculiar  growth  of  great  cities  ;  virtues, 
which,  perhaps,  would  never  have  ripened  in  the 


372 


colder  and  more  insulated  climates  of  a  country  life. 
But  it  is  no  less  certain,  that  the  contagion  of  evil  ex- 
ample circulates  most  rapidly,  where  the  points  of  con- 
tact are  most  numerous.  Vast  bodies  of  men  are  always 
swayed  by  something  like  the  principle  of  fashion;  and 
it  is  chiefly  in  large  cities,  that  a  standard  of  publick 
opinion  is  set  up,  hardly  less  than  omnipotent,  and 
to  which  morals,  taste  and  conscience  must  dishon- 
ourably conform.  It  is  also  true,  that,  where  men 
are  crowded  together  in  superabundant  numbers,  the 
lurking  holes  of  depravity  are  most  numerous,  and 
most  difficult  to  be  traced.  Certain  portions  of  the 
population  form,  among  themselves,  little  common- 
wealths of  corruption,  in  which  crime  is  at  once  sys- 
tematized, propagated,  sheltered,  and  brought  to  per- 
fection. The  promiscuous  collection  of  ail  ages  and 
sexes  in  large  manufacturing  establishments,  which  is 
one  of  the  evils  attending  on  great  wealth  and  popu- 
lation, is  also  most  deadly  in  its  influence  on  publick 
morals.  In  these  establishments  a  mass  of  corruption  is 
brought  together,  and  kept  continually  fomenting,  till 
it  produces  the  most  active  and  deleterious  spirit  of 
human  depravity.  From  the  evils  of  excessive  popu- 
lation we  have  nothing  yet  to  fear.  The  very  activity 
and  diffusion  of  our  commerce  will  prevent  the  inconve- 
nient and  excessive  population  of  any  one  spot ;  and 
the  prospect  of  an  overgrown  inland  metropolis,  more 
unfavourable  to  purity  of  manners  than  a  commercial 
city,  is  too  faint  to  occasion  any  present  anxiety  about 
its  effect  on  the  moral  character  of  our  nation. 


873 


Intimately  connected  with  this  advantage  is  the, 
fourth,  we  shall  mention,  viz.  the  agricultural  character 
of  a  very  great  majority  of  our  citizens.  No  situation 
in  life  is  so  favourable  to  established  habits  of  virtue, 
and  to  powerful  sentiments  of  devotion,  as  a  residence 
in  the  country,  and  rural  occupations.  I  am  not  speak- 
ing of  a  condition  of  peasantry,  of  which,  in  this  coun- 
try, we  know  little,  who  are  mere  vassals  of  an  ab- 
sent lord,  or  the  hired  labourers  of  an  iutendant, 
and  who  are,  therefore,  interested  in  nothing  but  the 
regular  receipt  of  their  daily  wages  ;  but  I  refer  to 
the  honourable  character  of  an  owner  of  the  soil, 
whose  comforts,  whose  weight  in  the  community,  and 
whose  very  existence  depend  upon  his  personal  la- 
bours, and  the  regular  returns  of  abundance  from  the 
soil,  which  he  cultivates.  No  man,  one  would  think, 
would  feel  so  sensibly  his  immediate  dependence  upon 
God,  as  the  husbandman.  For  all  his  peculiar  bles- 
sings, he  is  invited  to  look  immediately  to  the  bounty 
of  heaven.  No  secondary  cause  stands  between  him 
and  his  Maker.  To  him  are  essential  the  regular 
succession  of  the  seasons,  and  the  timely  fall  of  the 
rain,  the  genial  warmth  of  the  sun,  the  sure  produc- 
tiveness of  the  soil,  and  the  certain  operations  of  those 
laws  of  nature,  which  must  appear  to  him  nothing 
less,  than  the  varied  exertions  of  omnipresent  energy. 
In  the  country,  we  seem  to  stand  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  theatre  of  God's  power,  and  we  feel  an  unusual 
proximity  to  our  Creator.  His  blue  and  tranquil  sky 
spreads  itself  over  our  heads,  and  we  acknowledge 


3?4 


the  intrusion  of  no  secondary  agent  in  unfolding  tins 
vast  expanse.  Nothing  but  omnipotence  can  work 
up  the  dark  horrours  of  the  tempest,  dart  the  flashes 
of  the  lightning,  and  roll  the  long-resounding  ru- 
mour of  the  thunder.  The  breeze  wafts  to  his  senses 
the  odours  of  God's  beneficence ;  the  voice  of  God's 
power  is  heard  in  the  rustling  of  the  forest ;  and  the 
varied  forms  of  life,  activity,  and  pleasure,  which  he 
observes  at  every  step  in  the  fields,  lead  him  irresis- 
tibly, one  would  think,  to  the  source  of  being,  and 
beauty,  and  joy.  How  auspicious  such  a  life  to  the 
noble  sentiments  of  devotion  !  Besides,  the  situation 
of  the  husbandman  is  peculiarly  favourable,  it  should 
seem,  to  purity  and  simplicity  of  moral  sentiment. 
He  is  brought  acquainted,  chiefly,  with  the  real  and 
native  wants  of  mankind.  Employed  solely  in  bring- 
ing food  out  of  the  earth,  he  is  not  liable  to  be  fasci- 
nated with  the  fictitious  pleasures,  the  unnatural 
wants,  the  fashionable  follies  and  tyrannical  vices 
of  more  busy  and  splendid  life. 

Still  more  favourable  to  the  religious  character  of 
the  husbandman  is  the  circumstance,  that,  from  the 
nature  of  agricultural  pursuits,  they  do  not  so  com- 
pletely engross  the  attention,  as  other  occupations. 
They  leave  much  time  for  contemplation,  for  reading, 
and  intellectual  pleasures  ;  and  these  are  peculiarly 
grateful  to  the  resident  in  the  country.  Especially 
does  the  institution  of  the  sabbath  discover  all  its 
value  to  the  tiller  of  the  earth,  whose  fatigue  it 
solaces,  whose  hard  labours  it  interrupts,  and  who 


375 


feels,  on  that  day,  the  worth  of  his  moral  nature, 
which  cannot  be  understood  by  the  busy  man,  who 
considers  the  repose  of  this  day  as  interfering  with 
his  hopes  of  gain,  or  professional  employments.  If, 
then,  this  institution  is  of  any  moral  and  religious 
value,  it  is  to  the  country  we  must  look  for  the  con- 
tinuance of  that  respect  and  observance,  which  it 
merits.    My  friends,  those  of  you,  especially,  who 
retire  annually  into  the  country,  let  these  periodical 
retreats  from  business  or  dissipation  bring  you  near- 
er to  your  God ;  let  them  restore  the  clearness  of 
your  judgment  on  the  objects  of  human  pursuits,  in- 
vigorate your  moral  perceptions,  exalt  your  senti- 
ments, and  regulate  your  habits  of  devotion ;  and  if 
there  be  any  virtue,  or  simplicity  remaining  in  rural 
life,  let  them  never  be  impaired  by  the  influence  of 
your  presence  and  example. 

After  what  we  have  now  said  upon  the  virtuous 
and  devotional  tendency  of  a  country  life,  it  may, 
perhaps,  be  considered  as  inconsistent,  or  even  para- 
doxical, to  place  our  commercial  character  among  our 
moral,  much  less  bur  religious  advantages.  But,  let 
it  be  considered,  whatever  be  the  influence  of  trafnek 
upon  the  personal  worth  of  some  of  those,  who  are 
engaged  in  it,  its  intrinsick  value  to  the  community, 
and  its  kind  influence  upon  certain  parts  of  the  moral 
character  are  not  to  be  disputed.  Hence,  I  do  not 
scruple  to  state  it  as  the  fifth  of  our  national  distinc- 
tions, which  call  for  our  grateful  acknowledgments. 
Tell  me  not  of  Tyre,  and  Sidon,  and  Corinth,  and 


376 


Carthage.      1  know  they  were  commercial,  and  cor- 
rupt.   But  let  it  be  remembered,  that  they  flourished 
long  before  the  true  principles  of  honourable  trade 
were  understood,  before  the  introduction  of  Christiani- 
ty had  given  any  stability  to  those  virtues  of  conscien- 
tious integrity,  and  strict  fidelity  in  trusts,  which  are 
now  indispensable  to  commercial  prosperity.  They 
have  passed  away,  it  is  true  ;  and  so  has  Sparta, 
where  no  commerce  wras  allowed ;  and  Judea,  though 
mostly  agricultural,  is  known  no  more,  except  for  its 
national  ingratitude  and  corruption.      Besides,  when 
the  choice  of  a  nation  lies,  as,  from  the  present  state 
of  the  world,  it  appears  long  destined  to  lie,  between 
a  commercial  and  a  military  character,  surely  there 
can  be  little  hesitation  about  the  comparative  influ- 
ence of  the  peaceful  activity  of  trade,  though  it  may 
tend  to  enervate  some  of  the  energies  of  the  human 
character,  and  that  deplorable  activity  of  a  mere  war- 
like nation,  where  plunder  is  the  ruling  passion  of 
the  great,  and  destruction,  the  trade  of  the  small, 
where  every  new  conquest  tends  only  to  concentrate, 
in  still  fewer  hands,  the  wealth  of  kingdoms,  and  to 
inspire  the  common  people  with  an  undistinguishing 
ferocity.   Surely,  we  cannot  hesitate,  whether  to  pre- 
fer that  warlike  state  of  a  nation,  which  poisons,  at 
once,  the  sources  and  security  of  domestick  happi- 
ness— a  state,  in  which  the  lives,  as  well  as  the  vir- 
tues of  mankind,  sink  into  objects  of  insignificant  im- 
portance— or  that  commercial  situation  of  a  people, 
which  rouses  and  develops  all  the  powers  of  all 


377 

classes  of  the  population,  which  gives  a  perpetual 
spring  to  industry,  and  which,  by  showing  every 
man,  how  completely  he  is  dependent  upon  every 
other  man,  makes  it  his  interest  to  promote  the  \  ds- 
perity,  to  consult  the  happiness,  and  to  maintain  the 
peace,  the  health,  and  the  security  of  the  millions, 
with  whom  he  is  connected.  Surely,  that  state  of  a 
people  cannot  be  unfavourable  to  virtue,  which  pro- 
vides such  facilities  of  intellectual  communication  be- 
tween the  remotest  regions,  so  that  not  a  bright  idea 
can  spring  up  in  the  brain  of  a  foreign  philosopher, 
but  it  darts,  like  lightning,  across  the  Atlautick ;  not 
an  improvement  obtains  in  the  condition  of  one  so- 
ciety, but  it  is  instantly  propagated  to  every  other. 
By  this  perpetual  interchange  of  thought,  and  this 
active  diffusion  of  understanding,  the  most  favour- 
able opportunities  are  afforded  for  the  dissemim 
of  useful  knowledge,  especially  for  the  extension  of 
that  most  precious  of  gifts,  the  gospel  of  Jesus.  I 
need  not  add,  that  the  wide  intercourse,  we  are  keep- 
ing up  with  foreign  nations,  ought  to  enlarge  the 
sphere  of  our  intelligence,  liberalize  our  sentiments 
of  mankind,  polish  the  manners  of  the  community, 
and  introduce  courteousness  and  urbanity  of  deport- 
ment. Merchants  !  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  suggest 
to  you  any  considerations  on  the  value  of  your  order 
to  the  community,  I  would  say,  that  upon  your  per- 
sonal character  depends  much  of  these  favourable  in- 
fluences of  commerce.  I  would  beg  you  to  beware 
of  an  engrossing  love  of  profit,  which  invariably  nar- 
48 


37B 

rows  the  capacity,  and  debases  the  noblest  tendencies 
of  the  human  character.  I  would  persuade  you  to 
cultivate  habits  of  mental  activity,  to  indulge  enlarg- 
ed views  of  your  connexion  with  mankind,  to  con- 
sider yourselves  as  forming  part  of  the  vast  chain 
of  mutual  supports  and  dependencies,  by  which  the 
activity,  the  improvement  and  the  pleasure  of  the  in- 
habitants of  every  part  of  the  w  orld  are  secured  and 
promoted.  Above  all,  forget  not,  that  you  are  in- 
struments in  the  hands  of  Providence,  by  which  he 
diffuses  his  blessings,  and  promotes  his  grand  pur- 
poses in  the  cultivation,  the  civilization  and,  thus, 
the  moral  and  religious  advancement  of  this  wide 
creation.  Grod  grant,  that  you  may  never  feel  the 
remorse  of  having  deliberately  contributed  to  the  in^ 
troduction  of  a  new  vice  into  the  community,  or  to 
the  corruption  of  an  old  or  established  principle ;  of 
having  aided  the  tyranny  of  a  worthless  fashion,  or 
assisted  the  gradual  encroachments  of  selfishness, 
vanity,  pomp,  and  slavish  imitation,  on  the  freedom 
and  dignity  of  social  life  ! 

I  have  already  said,  that  the  blessings  of  the  chris- 
tian religion  and  of  civil  liberty,  though  far  more 
important  in  their  influence,  than  any  one  of  those 
advantages,  we  have  already  considered,  were  too 
extensive  to  be  fairly  represented  in  the  limits  of  a 
sermon  ;  and,  for  that  reason,  I  purposely  omit  them, 
especially,  too,  as  they  are  subjects  of  such  common 
discourse.  But  I  cannot  spare  myself  the  satisfac- 
tion of  suggesting,  as  the  sixth  of  our  peculiar  ad- 


379 


vantage*,  the  perfect  toleration  and  equal  competi- 
tion of  religious  opinions.  In  this  country,  the  wishes 
of  innumerable  great  and  good  men,  of  former  ages 
and  older  countries,  are  wonderfully  realized ;  and 
many  of  the  sincere  friends  of  religion  are  looking 
on,  with  anxious  expectation,  to  watch  the  success  of 
the  experiment  of  unmixed  religious  liberty.  It  must 
be,  it  will  be  favourable  to  the  grand  cause  of  God 
and  truth  and  virtue.     In  those  countries,  where 
freedom  of  religious  inquiry  is  cautiously  restrained, 
where  subscriptions  to  formularies  and  articles  of 
faith   are  made  qualifications  for  every  species  of 
civil  dignity  or  ecclesiastical  employment,  the  con- 
clusion quickly  follows,  that  religion  is  only  the  crea- 
ture of  the  civil  power.     Wherever  an  establish- 
ment exists,  especially  if  freedom  of  inquiry  is  at 
the  same  time  discouraged,  the  majority  of  the  people 
have  no  other  conception  of  Christianity,  than  as  it  is 
found  in  that  establishment,  or  as  it  is  stated  in  its 
authorized  compendium.     Hence,  every  objection, 
which,  as  the  mind  enlarges,  is  casually  suggested 
against  that  peculiar  modification  of  Christianity,  op- 
erates fatally  against  revelation  itself ;  and  hence  the 
number  of  infidels  in  any  country  will  be  in  exact 
proportion  to  the  restrictions  laid  on  the  liberty  of 
thinking  and  writing  on  subjects  of  religion.  But 
when  those  grand  objects  of  meditation,  God,  and 
Christ,  and  eternity,  and  retribution,  and  revelation, 
and  miracles,  and  the  origin  and  destination  of  man, 
are  not  considered  as  the  exclusive  study  of  the 


380 


priest,  from  being  the  most  sublime,  they  become,  also, 
the  most  interesting  of  speculations.  Man,  in  such  a 
country,  feels,  that  no  power  on  earth  can  interpose 
between  his  conscience  and  his  Creator.  He  feels 
something  of  the  nobility  of  his  origin,  and  has  a 
foretaste  of  the  grandeur  of  his  destination.  He  finds, 
that  there  are  subjects,  and  those,  too,  which  infinitely 
transcend  the  ordinary  subjects  of  human  inquiry,  in 
which  he  has  as  deep  an  interest  as  his  superiours, 
and  for  the  knowledge  of  which  he  is  as  responsible 
as  his  instructers.  Thus  the  latent  powers  of  the 
mind  are  developed,  its  pursuits  ennobled,  and  its 
views  enlarged ;  and  man  feels  that  sentiment  of  his 
own  dignity,  without  which  there  can  be  nothing  of 
frankness,  nothing  of  generosity,  nothing  of  stable 
excellence  in  the  moral  character. 

When,  also,  there  is  a  perfectly  fair  competition 
between  all  the  sects  of  a  community,  each  one  of 
them  finds,  that  it  can  maintain  its  influence,  or  its 
numbers,  only  by  a  degree  of  purity  in  its  doctrines, 
which  will  stand  the  test  of  inquiry,  or  by  the  supe- 
riour  sanctity  of  its  morals,  or  by  the  especial  exer- 
tions and  zeal  of  its  ministers.  Hence,  though  the 
prodigious  diversity  of  religious  opinions  in  a  free 
country  will  sometimes  be  found  productive  of  seri- 
ous evils,  yet  are  these  evils  counterbalanced  by  the 
circumstance,  that  here  religion  is  brought  home  to 
the  bosom  of  every  man  ;  it  becomes  his  personal 
concern ;  he  worships  God  with  more  ardent  and 
devotional  satisfaction,  because  he  can  worship  him 


381 

according  to  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience. 
Thousands  of  temptations  to  hypocrisy  are  thus  cast 
off  at  once  ;  the  sacred  inviolability  of  religious  opin- 
ion becomes  an  hereditary  sentiment,  which  every 
man  is  proud  to  transmit.  Feeling  the  value  of  his 
own  liberty,  he  learns  to  respect  what  he  thinks  the 
erroneous  conscience  of  his  brother ;  and,  by  the  un- 
embarrassed communication  of  every  truth,  of  every 
doubt,  and  every  interesting  sentiment,  the  celestial 
fire  of  religious  inquiry  is  enkindled  in  thousands  of 
hearts,  and  the  grand  work  of  our  spiritual  per- 
fection hastened  and  promoted.  My  friends,  shall 
we  become  the  more  indifferent  about  our  faith,  as 
our  means  of  ascertaining  its  truth  and  purity  are 
multiplied  ?  Shall  that  unbounded  liberty  of  con- 
science, which  we  enjoy,  terminate  in  nothing  but 
the  liberty  of  not  bestowing  a  thought  on  the  subject? 
Shall  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  religious  choice 
amount  to  nothing  but  freedom  from  the  restraints  of 
every  species  of  religious  belief? 

Bear  with  me  yet  a  little  longer,  that  I  may  mention, 
in  the  seventh  and  last  place,  the  peculiar  advantages, 
we  enjoy  in  our  iemoteness  from  the  wars,  the  tu- 
mults, the  revolutions  and  the  crimes  of  the  older 
world.  A  mighty  drama  is  acting  on  the  theatre  of 
Europe.  We  sit  here  peaceful  spectators,  while  an 
ocean  rolls  between  us  and  that  stage  of  fearful 
events.  Feeling  none  of  the  miseries  of  war,  we 
have  not  yet  witnessed  all  the  confusion  of  its  crimes. 
Indeed,  my  friends,  our  situation  is  unexampled  in 


38S 

the  records  of  nations.  Brought  into  the  rank  of  in- 
dependent states  at  this  late  period  of  the  world,  the 
experience  of  past  ages  is  spread  out  before  us,  and 
all  the  rolls  of  time  are  unfolded  for  our  instruction. 
A  wonderful  providence  seems  to  lift  us  up  miracu- 
lously to  a  lofty  region  of  observation,  that  we  may 
see  the  shock  of  empires,  and  tremble,  and  be  thankful. 
Indeed,  it  would  seem,  as  if  a  last  experiment  were 
making  among  us,  to  prove,  whether  a  nation  can  profit 
any  thing,  not  merely  by  the  history  of  its  predeces- 
sors, but  by  a  series  of  dreadful  events,  which  are 
passing  directly  before  its  eyes.  God  grant,  the  grand 
experiment  may  succeed  !  You  and  I,  and  generations 
yet  unborn,  are  interested  in  it.  It  is  to  be  seen,  wheth- 
er religion  has  found  here  that  permanent  shelter,  she 
sought.  It  is  to  be  seen,  whether  the  only  valuable  bles- 
sings of  human  life,  order,  virtue,  mental  cultivation,  re- 
ligious liberty  and  religious  sentiments  can  coexist  with 
a  state  of  permanent  and  unexampled  peace  and  pros- 
perity. It  is  to  be  seen,  in  short,  whether  a  people  can 
be  entrusted  with  the  very  blessings,  for  which  thou- 
sands of  great  and  good  men  have  most  earnestly 
sought ;  or  whether  we  shall  add  another  to  the  list  of 
corrupted  and  corrupting  states,  and  go  down  with  the 
rest,  enervated  by  the  crimes  of  youth,  to  the  vast 
cemetery  of  nations,  (rod,  of  thy  mercy,  avert  this  re- 
sult !  Scourge  us,  distress  us,  reduce  us,  alarm  us,  if 
we  may,  by  any  means,  preserve  that  righteousness, 
which  exalteth  a  nation,  and  may  escape  that  sin, 
which  is  the  ruin  of  any  people. 


• 


SERMON  XXIII. 


PHIL.  iv.  3. 

I  ENTREAT  THEE,  HELP  THOSE    WOMEN,  WHICH  LABOURED 

WITH    ME  IN  THE   GOSPEL,  WHOSE  NAMES   ARE  IN  THE 

BOOK   OF  LIFE, 

THIS  is  one  of  the  numerous  passages  in  the 
gospel  history,  where  honourable  mention  is  made  of 
the  female  sex.  From  the  angel's  salutation  of  the 
virgin  mother  of  our  Lord,  to  the  letter  of  John,  the 
beloved  apostle,  to  the  elect  lady  and  her  children, 
the  New  Testament  is  full  of  their  exertions,  their 
affection,  fidelity  and  influence.  In  the  course  of  our 
Saviour's  ministry,  sublime  and  solemn  as  was  his 
supernatural  character,  we  find  frequent  examples  of 
his  attention  to  them,  and  of  their  attachment  to 
him.  To  the  woman  of  Samaria  he  made  the  first 
declaration  of  his  Messiahship,  and  imparted  the  first 
principles  of  his  new  and  spiritual  doctrine ;  and  this, 
too,  with  a  condescension,  which  surprised  his  disci- 
pies,  who  wondered,  that  he  talked  with  the  woman. 
We  find  him,  also,  a  frequent  guast  in  the  family  of 
Martha,  and  Mary }  for  Jesus,  we  are  told,  loved 


Martha,  and  her  sister,  and  Lazarus.  One  of  these 
affectionate  sisters,  to  testify  her  respect  for  his  per- 
son, just  before  his  sufferings,  came  with  a  box  of 
costly  perfume,  and  poured  it  over  his  head,  as  he 
sat  at  meat ;  and  with  so  much  pleasure  did  he  re- 
ceive this  offering  of  female  affection,  that  even  the 
disciples  murmured,  while  he  declared,  that,  wherev- 
er his  gospel  was  preached,  it  should  be  told  for  a 
memorial  of  her. 

Mary  Magdalene,  too,  a  Jewish  lady  of  some 
wealth  and  consideration,  makes  a  distinguished 
figure  among  the  friends  of  Jesus.  She  has  been 
most  strangely  and  unjustly  confounded  with  that 
penitent  female,  who  had  been  a  sinner,  and  who 
bathed  our  Lord's  feet  with  tears  of  contrition.  But 
Mary  Magdalene  had  been  cured  by  our  Saviour  of 
one  of  the  most  terrible  maladies,  which  can  afflict 
our  suffering  nature  ;  and  the  fondest  employment  of 
her  recovered  reason  seems  to  have  been,  to  listen  to 
her  deliverer,  and  to  minister  to  him  of  her  substance. 
With  many  of  the  women,  she  followed  him  from 
Galilee  through  that  scene  of  suffering,  when  all  the 
disciples  from  our  sex  forsook  him,  and  fled.  The 
women  never  lost  sight  of  him,  till  he  was  raised 
upon  the  cross  ;  then  they  stood  by  and  witnessed 
his  expiring  movements.  They  left  not  the  body,  till 
it  was  deposited  in  the  tomb ;  then  they  saw,  where 
it  was  laid,  and  prepared  their  spices  to  embalm  it. 
On  the  sabbath  they  were  obliged  to  leave  it,  and  rest, 
"  according  to  the  commandment     but  their  wake- 


385 


fid  eyes  caught  the  first  streaks  of  eastern  light  on 
the  morning  of  the  resurrection  :  and  to  the  women, 
watching  and  weeping  at  the  sepulchre,  appeared  the 
first  delightful  vision  of  the  Lord  of  glory,  risen  in 
all  the  freshness  of  his  new  and  immortal  life. 

Some  of  the  earliest  and  most  faithful  converts  of 
the  apostles  were  also  from  this  sex.  To  the  assem- 
bled saints  and  widows,  Peter  presented  Dorcas  alive, 
who  had  been  full  of  good  works  and  almsdeeds, 
which  she  did.  The  tender  heart  of  Lydia  was 
melted  at  the  preaching  of  Paul ;  and,  in  his  epistles, 
he  seldom  fails  to  send  salutations  to  some  of  those 
excellent  females,  who,  by  their  works  of  charity  and 
labours  of  love,  cherished  the  feeble  community  of 
persecuted  christians,  and  illustrated  the  amiable 
spirit  and  benignant  influence  of  the  religion  they 
professed. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  difficult  to  account  for  these  fre- 
quent examples  of  female  Christianity,  so  interesting, 
and  yet  so  honourable  to  the  gospel.  The  men,  in 
Judea,  were  looking  for  a  prince,  as  their  Messiah, 
who  should  answer  their  ambitious  hopes,  not  only 
by  the  restoration  of  the  kingdom  to  Israel,  but  also 
by  dispensing  individual  honours  and  personal  dis- 
tinctions in  his  approachiug  dominion.  Every  Jew, 
therefore,  as  he  expected  a  share  of  this  splendid 
power,  felt  a  portion  of  that  vanity,  which  belonged 
to  the  expected  masters  of  the  world.  Hence,  they 
at  first  approached  our  Lord  with  impatience  and 
49 


386 


high-raised  hopes  ;  but  finding  him,  contrary  to  their 
previous  fancy,  so  poor,  meek,  unpretending,  spiritual 
and  unambitious,  they  often  retired  in  disgust,  which, 
in  the  great  men  of  the  nation,  his  rebukes  often  in- 
flamed to  rage. 

Meanwhile  the  Jewish  women,  in  their  retired  and 
subordinate  station,  had  little  share  in  these  ambi- 
tious expectations.    The  mother  of  Zebedee's  chil- 
dren, when  she  came  to  ask  a  favour  of  Christ,  solicit- 
ed nothing  for  herself,  but  only  for  her  sons,  that 
they  might  have  offices  in  his  kingdom.    To  the  hap- 
piness of  the  Jewish  women  it  was  of  little  conse- 
quence, whether  the  standard  of  the  expected  univer- 
sal empire  waved  on  the  temple  at  Jerusalem,  or  the 
capitol  at  Rome.    No  wonder,  then,  they  were  de- 
lighted, when  they  saw  the  Christ,  the  prince,  the 
idol  of  the  Jewish  expectation,  treating  their  sex 
with  distinguished  kindness.    They  were  more  at 
leisure  to  feel  and  contemplate  the  moral  greatness  of 
Jesus,  the  sufferer  5  while  the  other  sex  were  eager 
to  see  the  sign  from  heaven,  which  should  mark  out 
Jesus,  the  triumphant.   The  women  were  won  by  the 
tears,  which  they  saw  him  shed  at  the  grave  of  Laza- 
rus, in  sympathy  with  the  afflicted  sisters  ;  but  the 
men,  who  were  standing  by,  were  dissatisfied,  for, 
said  they,  Could  he  not  have  caused  that  Lazarus 
should  not  have  died  ?  And  when  Jesus,  the  wonder 
and  glory  of  Judea,  the  suffering  prince,  cast  his  last 
look  from  his  cross  down  on  the  fainting  Mary,  and 
says  to  John,  with  his  last  breath,  Behold  thy  mo- 


387 

ther !  is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  that  the  women,  who 
stood  by  and  heard  it,  should  have  beggfed  this  body, 
and  embalmed  this  corpse,  from  which  a  spirit  so  af- 
fectionate had  just  taken  its  flight? 

This  regard  for  the  founder  of  our  faith  they  seem 
to  have  continued  to  the  apostles  ;  for  the  christian 
communities,  in  the  first  ages,  were  distinguished  by 
an  order  of  women,  who  ministered  to  the  necessities 
of  the  saints,  who  brought  up  children,  who  lodged 
strangers,  who  washed  the  saints'  feet,  who  reliev- 
ed the  afflicted,  and  diligently  followed  every  good 
work,  thus  embalming  anew  the  remains  of  their 
Lord  in  the  fragrance  of  their  charities  toward  the 
church,  which  is  his  body. 

1  fancy  myself  standing  in  the  presence  of  their 
successors,  who  have  not  forfeited  the  religious  char- 
acter of  the  friends  of  Jesus,  and  who  yet  feel  the 
unimpaired  influence  of  his  affectionate  religion.  Do 
not  imagine,  that  we  disparage  the  glory,  or  that  we 
lightly  esteem  the  power  of  Christianity,  when  we 
say,  it  is  the  only  religion  for  the  female  sex  ;  for, 
though  it  was  introduced  for  the  good  of  the  whole 
world,  it  produces  much  of  this  good  by  its  effects  on 
their  condition,  and  its  power  on  their  hearts. 

When  we  find,  upon  opening  the  gospels,  such  lan- 
guage as  this,  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit ;  blessed 
are  the  meek,  the  merciful,  the  peace-makers,  the  ca- 
lumniated, is  it  surprising,  that  the  most  fond  and 
faithful  votaries  of  such  a  religion  should  be  found 
among  a  sex,  destined,  by  their  very  constitution,  to 


388 


the  exercise  of  the  passive,  the  quiet,  the  secret,  the 
gentle  and  humble  virtues  ?  Is  it  surprising,  that — 
while  the  self-styled  lords  of  the  creation  are  ab- 
sorbed in  the  pursuits  of  wealth  and  ambition,  dis- 
tracted in  the  game  of  war  and  politicks,  or  kept  by 
business  or  pleasure  out  of  the  knowledge  of  that 
care  and  obscurity,  to  which  their  female  partners 
are  separated  by  the  customs  of  society— is  it  sur- 
prising, that  the  dependent,  solitary  female,  in  looking 
round  for  a  bosom,  where  she  may  pour  out  her  se- 
crets, or  assuage  her  anxieties,  should  resort  with  pe- 
culiar tenderness  and  confidence  to  that  invisible  par- 
ent, who  is  always  present  to  her  aid  ;  and  thus  ac- 
quire a  habit  of  devotion  and  communion  with  God, 
unknown  to  our  more  presumptuous  sex  ? 

You  will  not  be  offended  by  the  suggestion,  that, 
accustomed,  as  you  are,  to  feel,  oftener  than  to  reason, 
the  portions  of  our  religion,  which  are  addressed  to 
the  imagination,  affect  you  with  singular  force.  Ac- 
customed more  to  retirement,  than  to  active  life,  you 
have  more  leisure,  and  consequent  disposition  for  re- 
ligious contemplations.  It  is,  also,  infinitely  honoura- 
ble to  your  character,  that  you  ever  feel  a  secret 
sympathy  with  a  religion,  which  unlocks  all  the 
sources  of  benevolent  affection,  which  smiles  on 
every  exercise  of  compassion,  and  every  act  of  kind- 
ness. We  may  say  too,  perhaps,  that  your  hearts, 
not  hardened  by  the  possession  of  power,  the  pains 
of  avarice,  or  the  emulations  of  publick  life,  are 
more  alive  to  the  accents  of  pardon  by  Jesus  Christ, 


389 


more  awake  to  the  glories  of  the  invisible  world. 
The  gospel  came  to  throw  a  charm  over  domestick 
life;  and,  in  retirement,  the  first  objects,  which  it 
found,  were  mothers  and  their  children.  It  came  to 
bind  up  the  brokenhearted ;  and  for  that  office  woman 
was  always  best  prepared.  It  came  to  heal  the  sick ; 
and  woman  was  already  waiting  at  their  couches.  It 
came  to  open  the  gates  of  life  on  the  languid  eye  of 
the  dying  penitent ;  and  woman  was  every  where  to 
be  seen,  softly  tending  at  the  pillow,  and  closing 
the  eyes  of  the  departing. 

With  this  superiour  susceptibility  of  religious  im- 
pression and  aptitude  to  the  practical  duties  of  the 
gospel,  I  know,  there  are  evils  associated,  against 
which  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  guard.  Sensibility 
degenerates  into  weakness,  and  religious  awe  into  su- 
perstition, in  your  sex,  oftener,  perhaps,  than  in  ours  ; 
yet,  with  all  these  dangers  and  inconveniences,  I  be- 
lieve, that  if  Christianity  should  be  compelled  to  flee 
from  the  mansions  of  the  great,  the  academies  of  the 
philosophers,  the  halls  of  legislators,  or  the  throng  of 
busy  men,  we  should  find  her  last  and  purest  retreat 
with  woman  at  the  fireside ;  her  last  altar  would  be 
the  female  heart ;  her  last  audience  would  be  the 
children  gathered  round  the  knees  of  a  mother  ;  her 
last  sacrifice,  the  secret  prayer  escaping,  in  silence, 
from  her  lips,  and  heard,  perhaps,  only  at  the  throne 
of  God. 

But  enough  of  the  religious  character  of  the  female 
sex.  To  say  more,  perhaps,  would  be  invidious  ;  and 


390 


to  have  said  less  would  hardly  have  been  just  to  those 
meek  spirits,  who  have,  in  every  age,  given  a  charm 
and  mild  lustre  to  the  gospel,  which  they  first  hail- 
ed, as  it  dawned  over  the  hills  of  Palestine,  A  less 
delicate  and  difficult  subject  remains. 

What  has  Christianity  done  for  that  sex,  to  which 
it  seems  so  well  adapted  ;  and  what  ought  they  now 
to  do  for  Christianity  ?  These  are  the  remaining  heads 
of  our  discourse. 

1.  What  has  the  introduction  of  Christianity  done 
for  your  sex  ?  This  inquiry  presents  itself  with  pecu- 
liar interest  on  this  occasion,  when  we  are  called 
to  appear  before  an  assembly  of  females,  who,  un- 
der the  genial  influence  of  the  christian  religion,  and 
of  this  alone,  have  founded,  and  supported,  and  suc- 
cessfully conducted  the  institution  before  us.  In 
former  ;ages,  and  under  any  other  system  of  religion, 
these  children,  instead  of  being  nourished,  as  they 
now  are,  by  the  care  of  christian  women,  would  prob- 
ably have  been  exposed,  at  their  birth,  to  perish 
under  the  broad  cope  of  heaven;  and  you,  ladies, 
instead  of  assembling  with  your  young  and  tender 
orphans  to  praise  the  Father  of  the  fatherless,  and 
claiming  the  respect  and  the  patronage  of  our  sex, 
would  have  been  crouching  under  our  tyranny,  or 
ministering  to  our  passions,  or  leading,  in  obscure 
apartments  assigned  to  your  sex,  a  selfish,  vapid,  and 
unprofitable  life. 

But,  now,  wherever  this  gospel  is  preached,  that, 
which  these  women  have  done,  shall  be  told  for  a 


391 


memorial  of  theni,  and  of  their  sex.  These  walls, 
this  service,  these  orphans,  this  audience,  and  all  the 
circumstances,  which  surround  us,  proclaim  the  pow- 
er and  blessedness  of  the  gospel. 

In  savage  life  the  condition  of  women  is  every 
where  nearly  the  same,  varying  only  in  degree  of  de- 
gradation, from  the  brutal  licentiousness  of  the  Ota- 
heitan,  to  the  slavish  drudgery  of  the  females  of  more 
northern  climates.  To  this  state  of  relative  depres- 
sion there'  are  exceptions,  it  is  said,  among  the  tribes 
of  Indians  on  our  north  west  coast,  wherej  man  ap- 
pears to  have  sunk  to  a  lower  point  of  barbarity,  than 
his  companion,  who  seems  thus  to  have  mounted  a 
little  on  his  ruins.  Perhaps,  too,  woman,  in  uncivil- 
ized life,  retains  and  exercises  more  of  the  peculiar 
virtues  of  the  sex,  than  we  find,  on  the  whole,  in 
their  inactive  retreats  among  the  polished  nations  of 
antiquity.  Of  the  humanity  and  kindness  of  woman 
in  savage  life,  Ledyard  has  left  a  testimony,  which 
will  never  cease  to  be  read  with  emotion,  while  there 
is  an  eye  left  to  weep. 

It  might  be  previously  supposed,  that,  as  the  char- 
acter of  our  sex  was,  in  the  progress  of  civilization, 
refined  and  exalted,  the  condition  of  women  would  be 
correspondent^  ameliorated,  and  their  character  ele- 
vated. No  doubt,  many  are  ready  to  believe,  that 
Christianity  has  done  nothing  for  women,  which  it  had 
not  first  done  for  men  ;  that  it  has  elevated  them  by 
raising  us.  But  a  very  little  attention  to  the  private 
life  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  at  the  summit  of  their 


393 


civilization  and  intellectual  culture,  will  refute  this 
suggestion.  If  Ave  would  find  the  wives  and  daugh- 
ters of  the  Greeks,  in  the  age  of  Pericles,  we  must 
look  for  them  in  the  inmost  apartments  of  the  houses, 
where  they  were  condemned  to  labour  in  obscurity  at 
the  distaff  and  the  loom,  in  common  inanity  and  eternal 
ennui.  The  only  women  of  cultivated  miuds  were 
then  the  females,  who  had  thrown  off  the  restraints 
of  decency  and  domestick  life  ;  and  the  dreary  vacan- 
cy of  the  female  understanding  is  but  sadly  relieved, 
among  this  polished  people,  with  the  names  of  Sap- 
pho, Aspasia,  and  some  other  courtezans,  who  have 
come  down  to  us  with  the  titles  of  poets  and  philoso- 
phers. You  cannot  fail  to  comprehend  the  condition 
of  your  sex,  w  hen  you  read,  that  Socrates  was  compel- 
led to  resort  for  female  conversation  to  the  feet  of  As- 
pasia ;  and  that  Thucydides,  the  most  philosophical 
of  Grecian  historians,  lays  it  down  as  a  maxim, 
that  "  the  most  virtuous  woman  is  she,  of  whom  the 
least  can  be  said." 

If  we  now  pass  to  Rome,  we  find  little  variation  in 
the  relative  condition  or  character  of  the  sex.  We 
are  attracted  by  the  great  actions  of  some  Ro- 
man women,  in  the  days  of  their  republican  rudeness 
and  severity.  We  repeat,  with  the  admiration  of 
school  boys,  the  story  of  the  Sabine  matrons,  and  the 
names  of  Lucretia,  Volumnia,  Hortensia,  Cornelia, 
the  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  Portia,  and  Arria,  the  wife 
of  Partus  ;  but  the  oeccasional  deeds  of  female  great- 
ness, which  break  out  amid  the  austerity  of  the  early, 


i 


393 


and  the  licentiousness  of  the  later  times,  and  which 
are  chiefly  remarkable  from  the  very  depression  of 
the  sex,  serve  now  rather  to  point  a  moral  and  adorn 
a  tale,  than  to  throw  any  certain  light  on  the  condi- 
tion and  character  of  the  Roman  women.  When  we 
are  told,  however,  that,  for  five  hundred  years,  not  a 
husband  in  Rome  exercised  his  manly  prerogative  of 
divorce,  we  are  tempted  to  lift  up  our  hands  in  admi- 
ration, either  of  the  virtues  of  one  sex,  or  the  forbear- 
ance of  the  other ;  but  we  soon  recollect  ourselves, 
and  begin  to  suspect,  with  Gibbon,*  "  that  the  same 
fact  evinces  the  unequal  terms  of  a  connexion,  in  which 
the  slave  was  unable  to  renounce  her  tyrant,  and  the 
tyrant  unwilling  to  relinquish  his  slave."  Soon, 
however,  the  Roman  matrons  became,  in  consequence 
of  a  new  jurisprudence,  "  the  equal  and  voluntary 
companions  of  their  lords."  From  that  time,  the 
corruption  and  misery  of  their  private  life  incalcula- 
bly increased.  The  women,  from  having  been  con- 
stant slaves,  became  the  general  corrupters  of  man- 
ners :  and,  as  luxury  increased,  those,  who  had  left 
the  labours  of  the  loom  entirely  to  their  slaves,  had 
no  other  substitute  for  this  engagement,  than  frequent 
marriages,  capricious  divorces,  and  licentious  amours. 
The  morals  of  the  Roman  women,  in  the  time  of  the 
first  emperours,  are  too  well  known  from  the  satires  of 
Juvenal  ;  and  of  their  intellectual  condition  it  may  be 
enough  to  remark,  that  not  a  single  work  of  a  female 


*  Ghap.  44. 

50 


394 

classical  author  has  come  down  to  us  through  the 
whole  course  of  Roman  literature.* 

To  heighten  the  dark  colouring  of  this  picture  of 
paganism,  it  is  not  necessary  to  survey  the  vast  conti- 
nent of  Asia,  to  explore  the  recesses  of  the  haram,  and 
follow  the  Hindoo  wife  to  the  funeral  pile  of  her  hus- 
band.   In  that  extensive  region  of  the  world,  the 
manners  and  customs,  which  have  been  the  same 
through  many  centuries,  all  proclaim  the  degradation 
of  the  sex.    If  we  resort  to  the  land  of  Judea,  where 
all  is  singular  and  astonishing  in  the  history  of  the  in- 
habitants, we  shall  not  find  much  to  relieve  the  pic- 
ture of  woman.    The  laws  of  Moses,  it  is  true,  were, 
in  many  respects,  more  humane,  impartial  and  favour- 
able to  the  sex,  than  any  thing  we  find  in  the  rest  of 
Asia ;  and  we  have  left  us,  in  the  Proverbs  of  Solo- 
mon, a  description  of  what  the  wisest  man  of  the  east 
conceived  to  be  the  perfection  of  a  virtuous  wife, 
whose  price,  he  says,  is  above  rubies.    But  though 
we  may  admit,  that  it  is  a  picture  of  an  excellent  wife, 
yet,  if  the  king  were  now  to  draw  a  portrait  of  ideal 
female  perfection,  he  might  gather,  from  some  living 
excellence,  traits  of  moral  beauty,  and  of  female  glo- 
ry, of  which  the  princes  of  the  east,  in  the  days  of 
Solomon,  had  a  very  faint  conception. 

We  come  now  to  the  period,  when  the  light  of  the 
gospel  began  to  break  upon  the  world,  and  woman 
w  as  first  raised  to  share  with  man  the  same  destiny 

*  That  is,  till  after  the  introduction  of  Christianity.,  when  av6  find  several 

female  ecclesiastical  writers. 


395 


and  duties,  by  being  interested  in  the  same  redemp- 
tion and  the  same  hopes.  The  christian  communi- 
ties, in  the  first  century,  collected  by  a  new  and  su- 
pernatural impulse  from  the  corruption  and  degrada- 
tion of  hunianUy  in  the  pagan  world,  were  early  fill- 
ed with  women,  who,  at  once,  preached  and  practised, 
ennobled  and  recommended  the  new  religion.  In  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  the  christian  inartyrologies  are 
full  of  the  names  of  female  sufferers,  who,  for  Jesus' 
sake,  went  to  the  stake  with  all  the  courage  and  in- 
flexibility of  apostles. 

From  Judah's  rocks  the  sacred  light  expands, 
And  beams  and  broadens  into  distant  lands. 

But  O  ye  weak,  beneath  a  master's  rod, 
Trembling  and  prostrate,  own  a  helping  God  ! 
Ardent  in  faith,  through  bonds,  and  toil,  and  loss, 
Bear  the  glad  tidings,  triumph  in  the  cross  ! 
Away  with  woman's  fears  I  proud  man  shall  own 
As  proud  a  mate  on  virtue's  loftiest  throne ; 
On  to  the  death  in  joy — for  Jesus'  sake 
Writhed  on  the  rack,  or  blackening  at  the  stake, 
Scorn  the  vain  splendours  of  the  world  below, 
And  soar  to  bliss,  that  only  martyrs  know  !* 

But  the  effect  of  Christianity  upon  the  character  aud 
condition  of  your  sex  did  not  terminate  in  raising 
the  armies  of  martyrs,  with  which  the  annals  of  the 
church  are  crowded.  The  truly  important  and  per- 
manent influence  of  Christianity  arose  from  the  check, 
which  it  gave  to  the  licentiousness  of  divorce,  and 

*  Lucy  Aikin. 


396 


from  the  abolition  of  the  practice  of  polygamy.  By 
these  sacred  laws  of  the  new  dispensation  man  and 
woman  were  raised  from  the  abyss  of  depravity,  in 
which  they  were  sunk  together.  By  the  prevalence 
of  the  gospel  it  was  soon  understood,  that  the  souls 
of  your  sex  were  of  an  origin  as  high,  a  value  as 
precious,  a  destination  as  lofty,  and  a  duration  as 
lasting,  as  our  ow  n.  Woman  then  began  to  be  the 
companion  and  the  partner  of  man ;  the  condition  of 
domestick  life  was  changed  ;  and  the  household  gods 
of  the  pagans  were  supplanted.  It  was  understood 
to  be  one  of  the  principles  of  Christianity,  that,  while 
man  was  the  head  of  the  woman,  woman  was  the 
glory  of  the  man ;  the  unbelieving  husband  was 
sanctified  by  the  w  ife  ;  and  the  holy  spirit  had  been 
poured,  without  distinction  of  sex,  on  the  male  and 
female  converts.  Not  only  was  the  bond  of  marriage 
fastened  indissolubly  by  the  force  of  religion,  as  well 
as  by  its  laws,  and  woman  delivered  from  the  ca- 
prices of  divorce,  and  the  miseries  of  polygamy  ;  but, 
by  the  introduction  of  the  gospel,  a  new  impulse  was 
given  to  the  ideas,  and  a  new  direction  to  the  pursuits 
of  the  sex.  They  were  not  only  pure  maidens  and 
faithful  wives,  but  they  became,  also,  thinkers  and 
students ;  apologists,  as  well  as  martyrs  for  Christian- 
ity. Where  the  new  faith  was  received,  they  often 
introduced  it.  They  established  it  on  the  thrones 
of  the  northern  nations,  who  were  preparing  to  burst 
in  upon  the  tottering  empire  of  the  west ;  and  what 
our  religion  owes  to  them  of  its  rapid  extension;  it 


3<J7 


abundantly  repaid  by  its  influence  on  their  condition. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  regeneration  of  one  half  of  the 
human  race.  The  life,  liberty,  talents  and  virtues  of 
mankind  were  doubled,  as  it  were,  by  this  wonder- 
ful moral  revolution.  N,ew  vigour  was  imparted  to 
benevolence,  a  new  charm  given  to  social  life,  a  new 
spring  to  the  energies  of  the  human  mind,  and  a  new 
aud  celestial  character  to  the  religion  of  the  world. 
While  Christianity  was  accomplishing  these  benefits 
for  the  female  sex,  mahometanism  arose  from  the  cor- 
ruptions, which  began  to  obscure  and  deprave  it,  and 
formed,  at  the  same  time,  a  contrast  to  the  effects  of 
the  pure,  original  religion  of  Jesus.  As  the  religion 
of  Mahomet  extended  and  established  itself  in  Asia, 
it  sealed  forever  the  domestick  slavery  and  relative 
degradation  of  women ;  while  under  the  influence  of 
Christianity,  even  in  its  degenerating  form,  the  sex 
continued  to  ascend  to  the  condition,  which  they  now 
enjoy  in  Europe.  The  parallel,  which  this  new  revo- 
lution suggests,  might  be  drawn,  perhaps,  with  effect ; 
but  the  cause  of  Christianity,  before  such  an  audience, 
does  not,  I  hope,  require  illustrations  from  the  condi- 
tion of  Asiatick  females. 

In  fine,  when  we  compare  the  condition  of  your 
sex,  even  under  the  present  partial  reign  of  the 
christian  faith,  with  their  condition  under  the  best 
forms  of  paganism,  it  is  not  difficult  to  admit,  that 
the  gospel  ought  to  have  the  honour  of  this  renova- 
tion. There  may  be  those,  however,  who  are  inclin- 
ed to  attribute  these  favourable  changes  to  what  they 


would  call,  the  influence  of  philosophy.  If  by  this 
word  is  meant,  a  philosophy  unenlightened  by  the 
gospel,  the  facts,  we  have  already  adduced,  sufficient- 
ly refute  the  claim  ;  for  the  progress  of  women,  in 
the  course  of  pagan  refinement,  was  uniformly  found 
to  be  from  slavery  to  licentiousness.  On  this  subject 
we,  at  least,  may  be  satisfied  with  the  memorable  ac- 
knowledgment of  Rousseau,  "that  philosophy  has 
not  been  able  to  do  any  good,  which  religion  could 
not  have  done  better ;  and  religion  has  done  much, 
which  philosophy  could  not  have  done  at  all."  Or 
if  by  philosophy  be  meant,  the  best  modes  of  think- 
ing, which  have  prevailed  in  the  most  enlightened 
part  of  Christendom,  or  that  mental  cultivation,  to 
which  modern  Europe  has  attained,  we  must  first  de- 
termine, what  Christianity  has  done  for  all  the  true 
and  sound  philosophy,  which  now  exists,  before  we 
pretend  to  ascribe  to  the  latter  alone  those  blessings 
of  modern  times,  which  are  comprised  under  the  gen- 
eral name  of  civilization. 

There  is,  however,  an  institution,  which  arose  in 
times  of  danger  and  confusion,  to  which  an  influence 
has  been  ascribed,  highly  favourable  to  the  cause  of 
politeness,  humanity,  and  female  dignity  and  virtue. 
But,  when  you  would  know,  what  chivalry  lias  done 
for  your  sex,  you  must  be  careful,  that  you  do  not 
form  your  notions  of  its  nature  from  the  gorgeous  and 
fascinating  descriptions,  with  which  the  early  roman- 
ces and  chivalrous  bards  abound.  The  true  Euro- 
pean lady  of  those  gallant  days  was  a  being  very 


399 

little  like  the  sweet  female  portraits,  which  Spenser 
has  left  us.  It  was  not  until  after  the  revival  of 
learning  in  Italy,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  that  the 
fair  lady,  who  figured  in  the  pageant  of  knighthood, 
had  any  other  brightness,  than  that,  which  radiated 
from  her  eyes,  or  sparkled  in  her  ornaments. 

The  natural  effect  of  the  idolatrous  homage,  then 
paid  to  rank  and  beauty,  must  have  been,  to  enfeeble 
the  female  mind,  already  perverted  by  the  sight  of 
scenes  of  blood  and  single  combat,  by  which  the  fa- 
vour of  the  sex  was  obtained.  Chivalry,  no  doubt, 
did  much  for  the  general  courtesy  of  Christendom  ; 
but,  whether  it  contributed  much  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  heart  or  of  the  understanding,  in  your  sex,  we 
may  be  allowed  to  doubt.  The  relicks  of  chivalry, 
in  modern  days,  are  not  often  to  be  met  with  5  nor  is 
the  little,  we  have  left,  of  such  a  nature,  as  to  induce 
us  to  wish,  that  more  had  been  preserved ;  for  to  it 
we  certainly  owe  that  spurious  gallantry,  which  lias 
perverted  the  morals  of  the  sex  in  a  great  part  of 
Europe  ;  and  to  it  we  trace  those  horrible  notions  of 
honour,  which  yet  prevail  among  us,  to  the  disgrace, 
and  condemnation  of  a  christian  people. 

When  we  compare  the  influence  of  that  gallantry, 
which  grew  out  of  this  strange  institution,  with  the 
influence  of  the  monastick  spirit,  w  hich  was  intended 
to  counteract  or  repair  its  effects,  we  may,  perhaps, 
find  reasons  for  believing,  that  the  convent  was  not 
always  a  step  in  the  degradation,  but  often  in  the 
elevation  of  your  sex.    We  may  find,  perhaps,  that 


400 


the  schools,  the  charities,  the  studies,  and  the  devo- 
tions, which  these  institutions  encouraged,  were  some 
contributions  to  the  progress  of  the  female  mind. 

Labour  and  rest,  that  equal  periods  keep, 
Obedient  slumbers,  that  can  .wake  and  weep,  ^ 
Desires  composed,  affections  ever  eveji, 
Tears  that  delight,  and  sighs  that  waft  to  heaven 

were  not  all,  that  was  to  be  found  in  those  religious 
retreats.  There,  repentance  not  only  found  a  place 
to  weep,  but  charity  found  objects  of  its  constant 
care  ;  the  mind  received  a  kind  of  melancholy  culti- 
vation, and  the  heart  enjoyed  an  enthusiastick  exer- 
cise of  some  of  its  strongest  affections. 

Every  favourable  conclusion,  which  we  have  been 
disposed  to  form  of  the  influence  of  Christianity  on 
the  character  of  your  sex,  is  confirmed  by  a  survey 
of  modern  Europe.  Notwithstanding  the  progress 
of  what  is  called  refinement  in  nations,  wherever  re- 
ligion has  been  most  corrupted,  woman  is  yet  most 
depraved,  and  shows  a  more  sensible  degradation, 
than  our  sex.  It  would  be  easy  to  refer  you  to  mod- 
ern Italy  and  Spain  for  illustrations  of  this  ;  but  it 
will  be  sufficient  to  confine  ourselves  to  that  country, 
where  the  dregs  of  chivalry  seem  to  have  settled  in 
the  form  of  gallantry,  after  the  pure  spirit  of  honour 
had  evaporated.  In  France  the  female  understand- 
ing has  been  as  highly  cultivated,  as  in  any  part  of 
Christendom.  There  your  sex  has  often  dictated  the 
fashions  of  philosophy  and  taste,  and  exercised  a 
sensible  sway  over  the  republick  of  letters ;  and  if, 


401 


with  this  high  culture  of  the  female  imagination,  and 
this  invisible  influence  and  authority  in  criticism, 
France  had  also  produced  the  best  female  instructor! 
of  the  world,  and  the  purest  examples  in  the  walks 
of  doniestick  usefulness,  we  should  be  obliged  to  re- 
linquish some  of  the  conclusions,  which  we  have  al- 
ready embraced,  and  acknowledge,  that  the  state  of 
Christianity  in  a  country  has  little  to  do  in  the  forma- 
tion of  female  perfection.  But,  when  we  look  over 
the  roll  of  the  female  writers  of  France,  how  often 
are  we  compelled  to  pause,  and  wonder  at  their 
strange  union  of  sentiment  and  affectation,  of  moral 
delicacy  and  voluptuousness,  of  philosophy  and  par- 
adox, of  exquisite  sensibility  and  practical  unprin- 
cipledness  ;  so  that  there  is  hardly  one  of  their  most 
celebrated  females,  whose  works  you  may  venture  to 
recommend  without  reserve,  or  to  read  without  ex- 
ception. It  may  be  set  down,  perhaps,  to  the  preju- 
dices of  a  protestant  education,  or  to  national  pride, 
that,  though  I  am  disposed  to  allow  the  singular  mer- 
it and  piety  of  the  celebrated  Madame  Dacier,  I 
could  wish,  that  she  had  not  translated  Aristophanes 
and  Anacreon  ;  and  must  be  allowed  to  prefer  the 
severer  accomplishments  of  the  venerable  Mrs.  Car- 
ter, and  even  the  curious  learning  and  delicate  ripe- 
ness of  that  modest  prodigy,  Elizabeth  Smith.  J 
have  felt  occasional  sympathy  with  the  devout  and 
mystical  genius  of  Madame  Guyon,  but  I  cannot 
give  to  her  that  homage,  which  I  pay  to  the  angelick 

vision  of  Klopstock's  wife.   I  acknowledge  the  en- 
51 


402 


chanting  sensibility  of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  the  prac- 
tical good  sense  of  Madame  de  Genlis,  the  Delphick 
inspiration  of  Madame  deStael,  the  passionate  touches 
of  Madame  Cottin ;  but  my  admiration,  at  least  of 
these  latter  writers,  is  often  clouded  with  sorrow  and 
disgust.  I  look  in  vain  for  one  "  sun — clad  in  perfect 
purity,"  and  turn  for  relief  to  the  sound  philosophy 
of  Elizabeth  Hamilton,  or  delight  myself  with  the 
exquisite  elegance  and  hallowed  fancy  of  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld,  the  exuberant  diction  and  evangelical  morality 
of  Hannah  More,  the  well-attempered  maxims  of  the 
sensible  Chapone,  the  practical  sagacity  and  miracu- 
lous invention  of  Maria  Edgeworth.  These  names, 
— except,  perhaps,  the  last,  who  has  not  yet  author- 
ized us  to  class  her, — all  belong  to  Christianity. 
They  were  nourished  at  the  breast  of  protestantism  ; 
they  are  daughters  of  the  christian  family ;  and  they 
have  breathed,  though  a  colder,  yet  a  purer  air,  than 
their  rivals.  It  is  our  glory  to  belong  to  the  age, 
which  they  have  illustrated  by  their  genius,  and  our 
happiness  to  believe,  that  they  will  light  the  way  for 
our  children  to  glory,  honour  and  immortality. 

With  these  names  I  finish  this  division  of  my  dis- 
course ;  and  if  you  are  still  asked,  what  Christianity 
has  done  for  your  sex,  you  have  only  to  repeat  these 
names. 

%.  You  have  heard  us  with  so  much  patience  on 
the  past  condition  and  character  of  your  sex,  we  hope 
you  will  not  be  wearied  with  what  remains  of  this 
discourse^  in  which  we  intend  to  explain,  what  you 


403 

may  and  ought  to  do  for  Christianity,  which  has  done 
so  much  for  you. 

Nature,  when  she  endowed  you  with  superiour 
tenderness  of  frame  and  sensibility  of  mind,  directed 
you  to  the  almost  instinctive  exercise  of  the  kind  and 
compassionate  duties.  But  Christianity,  by  raising 
you  to  a  community  of  rights  and  interests  with  the 
other  sex,  while  it  has  still  left  you  this  sphere  of  ac- 
tion, has  given  you,  in  fact,  the  government  of  the 
world.  To  you  is  every  where  entrusted,  in  civiliz- 
ed Christendom,  that  precious  deposit,  the  infant's 
mind  ;  and  thus,  while  it  has  made  your  example  of 
early  and  everlasting  effect,  it  has  also  made  the  cul- 
ture of  your  understandings  of  infinite  importance. 
Still,  it  may  be  doubted,  whether  the  influence,  you 
have  as  mothers  or  as  wives,  is  greater,  than  that, 
which  you  have  already  exercised,  and  which  your 
daughters  will  exercise,  in  their  turn,  upon  entering 
the  world,  awakening  the  love,  and  leading  away  the 
admiration  of  our  sex.  My  young  friends,  who  will 
hereafter  give  to  many  homes  their  charm,  or  change 
them  into  dens  of  horrour,  when  you  know  and  feel, 
that  Christianity  is  every  thing  to  you,  you  will  make 
it  every  thing  to  us.  Think,  then,  what  you  may  do 
for  pure,  rational,  unaffected,  practical  Christianity. 
Is  it  not  worthy  of  your  ambition,  instead  of  counte- 
nancing, by  your  youthful  favour,  the  unprincipled  of 
our  sex,  to  attempt  to  raise  the  tone  of  masculine  un- 
derstanding and  morals,  and  the  standard  of  juvenilo 
accomplishments  ? 


404 


To  ensure  these  effects,  is  it  not  time,  that  female 
education  were  generally  directed  to  a  higher  mark, 
not  of  accomplishments,  as  they  are  called,  for  of 
them  we  have  enough,  even  to  satiety,  but  of  intellec- 
tual furniture  and  vigour  ?  Is  it  not  time,  that  a  race 
of  females  should  be  formed,  who  may  practise  with 
intelligence  and  with  confidence  on  those  rules,  which 
have  been  given,  and  those  ideas,  which  have  been 
suggested  in  the  immortal  w  orks  on  education,  which 
we  already  owe  to  the  extraordinary  women  of  the 
present  age?  Is  it  not  time,  that  some  plan  of  more 
liberal  and  extensive  female  education  were  devised 
to  form  the  mothers  of  your  children's  children  ;  an 
education,  which  shall  save  many  a  ripening  female 
mind  from  that  feebleness,  to  which  it  might  other- 
wise be  destined,  in  this  age  of  vanity  and  books  ;  so 
that  women  may  be  more  generally  furnished  with 
principles,  as  w  ell  as  sentiments,  with  logick,  as  well 
as  taste,  with  true  knowledge,  as  well  as  with  a  mor- 
bid thirst  for  entertainment ;  to  all  which,  should  be 
superadded  a  religious  fear  and  love  of  God  and  his 
Son,  so  that,  as  they  draw  toward  the  close  of  life, 
visions  of  celestial  bliss  may  fill  their  minds,  instead 
of  those  vanishing  scenes  of  pleasure,  which  are  now 
so  frequently  gliding  before  their  idle  fancies  ? 

We  look  to  you,  ladies,  to  raise  the  standard  of 
character  in  our  own  sex  ;  w  e  look  to  you,  to  guard 
and  fortify  those  barriers,  which  still  exist  in  society, 
against  the  encroachments  of  impudence  and  licen- 
tiousness.   We  look  to  you  for  the  continuance  of 


405 


domestiek  purity,  for  the  revival  of  domes  tick  relig- 
ion, for  the  increase  of  our  charities,  and  the  support 
of  what  remains  of  religion  in  our  private  habits  and 
publick  institutions. 

O,  you,  who  are  at  the  head  of  families,  husbands 
and  wives,  you,  who  entrust  each  other  with  your 
closest  secrets  and  your  most  important  interests,  let 
God  be  admitted  to  share  your  mutual  confidence. 
Where  there  is  no  communication  of  religious  senti- 
ment and  affection,  believe  me,  the  richest  spring  of 
social  and  domestiek  bliss  is  unopened  and  untasted. 
The  subject  of  religion  is  one,  on  which  the  female 
mind  feels  more,  perhaps,  than  on  almost  any  other, 
a  need  of  the  most  perfect  confidence,  in  order  to  de- 
relop  and  keep  alive  its  feelings.  The  perplexed  and 
doubting  spirit  loves  to  find  a  breast,  where  it  can  de- 
posit them  without  fear  or  shame  ;  and  would  to  God, 
that,  next  to  Him,  you  might  always  find  that  confi- 
dant at  home  !  Husbands  and  wives,  let  not  this  be 
the  only  subject,  on  which  you  are  ignorant  of  each 
other's  meditations,  or  destitute  of  each  other's  confi- 
dence. Venture  to  disdain  the  false  maxims  and  ty- 
ranny of  the  world,  and  try  what  religion  will  add  to 
your  domestiek  felicity. 

Where  the  gospel  is  really  received  by  you,  as  the 
source  of  your  happiness,  and  the  most  important  ob- 
ject of  your  consideration,  it  will  soon  be  discovered 
by"  your  children  and  your  families,  that  you  think  it 
so.  I  have  not  recommended  the  duty  of  family  re- 
ligion, because  it  is  expressly  enjoined  by  Jesus 


406 


Christy  but  because  I  am  sure,  that  it  is  the  best  sup- 
port of  every  thing  valuable  in  domestick  life,  and 
because  I  fear,  that  the  living  spirit  of  religion  can 
hardly  be  preserved  without  it.  One  day,  at  least, 
ye  mothers,  may  be  selected  from  the  seven,  to  im- 
press upon  your  children  the  idea,  that  you  think 
them  destined  for  some  other  world  than  this.  One 
day,  at  least,  may  bring  your  families  on  their  knees 
before  your  Father,  your  Master,  your  God,  and 
theirs.  "What !  shall  every  thing  be  left  to  the  pub- 
lick  preacher  ?  Ah,  how  little  can  he  do !  Shall  the 
rising  generation  know  nothing  of  their  God  and  Sa- 
viour, or  even  of  themselves  and  their  destination, 
but  what  they  may  chance  to  gather  from  their  school- 
masters or  their  ministers  ?  How  is  it  possible,  that  your 
children  should  not  come  out  into  the  world  ignorant 
of  every  thing,  which  relates  to  them,  as  religious  be- 
ings, if  those,  who  betray  the  strongest  and  dearest  in- 
terest in  every  thing  else,  which  relates  to  them,  in 
their  health,  their  establishments,  learning  and  ac- 
complishment, discover  no  interest  in  this  ?  How  can 
they  avoid  the  inference — for  it  lies  not  very  deep — 
that  religion  is  the  last  thing,  which  need  to  be  thought 
of  ?  And  is  it,  indeed,  of  such  little  importance  ?  O, 
Son  of  God,  who,  when  on  earth,  took  those  little 
ones  in  thine  arms,  gather  these  lambs  of  ours  in 
thine  arms,  for  their  parents  too  often  refuse  or  neg- 
lect to  bring  them  ! 

But  I  feel  checked  in  this  career  of  advice,  when  I 
see  what  you  have  done,  and  what  you  are  still  dis- 


407 


posed  to  do  for  the  best  interests  of  humanity  and  re- 
ligion, and  begin  to  fear,  that  I  have  been  presumptu- 
ous. I  look  at  these  orphans,  and  see  their  grateful 
eyes  directed  to  you,  their  patrons  and  deliverers ; 
and  I  feel  a  degree  of  shame  and  of  impatience  to 
turn  to  my  own  sex,  and  beg  them,  in  the  words  of  my 
text,  to  help  those  women,  who  have  thus  laboured  in 
the  best  of  causes.  Ye  rich  men,  when  you  observe 
these  few  children  rescued  from  want  and  destruction, 
or,  what  is  more,  snatched  from  the  arms  of  fathers 
and  mothers,  who,  with  grief  and  rage,  witnessed 
their  undesired  birth,  and,  with  insensibility,  saw 
them  perishing  by  their  own  parental  example  and 
neglect ;  nay,  when  you  are  told,  that  many  more  such 
little  creatures  are  now  knocking  for  admission  at 
the  gates  of  this  blessed  asylum,  and  waiting  for  the 
first  opening,  which  this  day's  generosity  may  make 
for  them,  can  you  turn  away  with  disdain  from  this 
call  of  compassion,  honour  and  religion  ?  Can  you, 
by  withholding  your  bounty,  leave  to  perish  in  the 
wide  common  of  a  vicious  world  a  multitude  of  fe- 
male orphans,  whom  these  good  women  are  willing  to 
receive  ?  Wait  but  a  few  years,  ye  rich  men,  and 
some  of  those,  whom  you  refuse  now  to  provide  for, 
will  have  grown  up  into  life  ;  they  will  have  entered, 
perhaps,  into  the  service  of  your  own  families  accom- 
panied with  all  their  ignorance  and  original  depravi- 
ties ;  they  will  be  the  occasional  companions,  per- 
haps the  instructers  of  your  children,  diffusing  vul- 
garity and  corruption  over  the  tender  minds  of  your 


40$ 


offspring,  disturbing  the  peace  of  your  families,  and 
even  dishonouring  the  purity  of  your  domestick  life. 
Wait  but  a  few  3  ~ars  longer,  and  you  shall  see  some 
of  these  same  orphans,  whom  your  want  of  charity 
shall  have,  in  their  infancy,  shut  out  from  this  asylum, 
patrolling  our  streets  in  all  the  effrontery  of  mature 
vice,  and  with  all  the  secret  misery  of  lost  virtue, 
gnawing  consciences,  corrupted  health,  and  impend- 
ing dissolution.  Wait  yet  a  little  longer,  and  you 
shall  see  these  same  victims  carried,  in  the  arms  of 
charity,  to  die  in  the  infirmaries  and  hospitals,  which 
you  may  be  compelled,  at  last,  to  provide  for  the 
wretched  and  the  guilty,  whom  a  little  additional 
bounty  to  this  institution  might  have  saved  from  the 
ruin  of  their  health  and  morals,  from  a  long  life  of  sin, 
and  from  a  death  of  horrour  and  despair. 

It  would  seem,  indeed,  that  all  exhortation,  on  a 
subject  like  this,  ought  to  be  superfluous.  The  su- 
preme value  of  that  charity,  which  is  bestowed  upon 
the  young,  is  too  plain  to  be  enforced  upon  such  an 
audience.  In  comparison  with  it,  every  other  mode 
of  charity  shrinks  into  unimportance.  In  the  bounty, 
which  is  bestowed  upon  old  age,  infirmity,  pain  and 
sickness,  the  good  is  too  often  at  an  end,  when  their 
immediate  relief  is  effected  ;  but,  for  the  good  conse- 
quences of  such  an  institution  as  this,  we  may  look  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach  in  the  long  perspective  of 
distant  years  and  successive  generations,  and  yet  see 
new  blessings  continually  evolved.  For  this  is  an  asy- 
lum for  the  mind,  as  well  as  for  the  body.    Its  excel- 


1 

409 


lence  °onsists,  not  so  much  in  relieving  cr  correcting, 
as  in  preventing  evil  ;  not  so  mucb  in  saving  a  child 
from  want,  as  in  rescuing  it  from  the  vices  of  a 
corrupt  world  ;  and,  therefore,  if  you  would  know 
the  full  effects  of  such  an  institution  as  this,  you  must 
extend  your  view  to  the  regions  of  eternal  blessed- 
ness and  charity,  where,  I  trust,  these  children,  and 
many  more  will  live  to  bless  you. 

Look  up,  ye  little  ones,  and  let  your  countenances 
tell  us,  what  these  mothers  have  done  for  you.  When 
you  go  out  into  the  world,  tell  those,  who  will  hear  you, 
from  what  you  have  been  saved,  and  to  what  you  have 
been  educated.  May  your  good  example,  when  you 
grow  up,  be  felt  among  the  numerous  ranks  of  domes- 
ticks,  whom  our  riches  and  our  luxury  are  continually 
multiplying.  May  you  remember  the  story  of  the 
little  Hebrew  maid,  who  waited  on  Naaman's  wife, 
and  who  was  made,  in  the  hand  of  Providence,  an  in- 
strument of  so  much  good  to  her  master.  Forget  not 
the  lessons  of  neatness,  industry,  frugality,  honesty 
and  piety,  which  you  have  been  receiving  here  ;  and 
remember,  that  the  only  way,  in  which  you  can  ever 
hope  to  repay  your  patronesses  and  benefactors,  is,  by 
preserving  all  the  good,  which  you  have  learned  here, 
and  by  imitating,  as  far  as  you  can  in  your  stations 
in  life,  their  generous  goodness. 

What  remains,  then,  my  christian  hearers,  but  that 
you  should  help  these  women  ?  I  beseech  you,  in  the 
name  of  that  sex,  which  you  profess  to  admire  ;  in  the 
name  of  that  religion,  which  has  given  you  wives, 
52 


410 


whom  you  can  respect,  and  children,  of  whom  you 
hope  every  thing,  send  them  not  away  empty.  I  be- 
seech you,  in  the  name  of  these  little  ones,  of  whom 
Jesus  would  say,  Suffer  these  children  to  come  un- 
to me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  ;  I  beseech  you,  in  the  venerable  name  of 
Jesus  himself,  the  affectionate  friend  of  this  sex,  who 
was  always  ready  to  lay  his  hands  on  their  orphans 
and  bless  them,  hear  what  our  blessed  Lord  saith  : 
Take  heed,  that  ye  cause  not  one  of  these  little  ones 
to  offend — how  much  more,  then,  to  perish — for,  verily 
I  say  unto  you,  their  angels  do  always  behold  the 
face  of  my  Father,  who  is  in  heaven.  What  !  their 
angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  God  ?  Perhaps, 
then,  they  are  witnesses  of  this  scene.  Perhaps  they 
will  carry  up  with  them  to  their  blessed  seats  the 
story  of  this  hour's  bounty.  Perhaps  they  may  con- 
sent to  join  in  the  songs  of  thanksgiving,  which  we 
send  up  to  the  ear  of  the  Most  High,  in  joy  of  this 
day's  charity.  Do  you  say,  that  these  are  only  illu- 
sions of  a  heated  or  a  benevolent  fancy  ?  Be  it  so — 
But  this,  at  least,  is  certain,  that,  in  a  very  few  years, 
these  orphans  will  themselves  bid  adieu  to  this  world 
and  its  neglect,  to  this  world  and  their  benefactors. 
Children,  may  you  carry  with  you  to  heaven  the  re- 
membrance of  this  day's  goodness  ;  or,  if  your  hopes 
and  mine  should  now  be  disappointed,  plead  for  us, 
dear  children,  at  the  feet  of  the  God  of  mercy,  and 
obtain  our  pardon  from  the  Father  of  the  fatherless, 
and  the  widow's  Friend. 


SERMON  XXIV. 


2  PET.  i.  5— 7. 

ADD  TO  YOUR  FAITH,  VIRTUE  ;  AND  TO  VIRTUE,  KNOWL- 
EDGE ;  AND  TO  KNOWLEDGE,  TEMPERANCE  J  AND  TO 
TEMPERANCE,  PATIENCE  J  AND  TO  PATIENCE,  GODLINESS; 
AND  TO  GODLINESS,  BROTHERLY  KINDNESS  ;  AND  TO 
BROTHERLY   KINDNESS,  CHARITY, 

THIS  enumeration  of  graces  or  christian  accom- 
plishments gives  us  a  fine  picture  of  the  various  ex- 
cellencies of  the  christian  character,  and  particularly 
of  the  character,  to  which  the  apostle  wished  his  con- 
verts to  attain.  Though  the  text  is  not  liable  to  any 
considerable  misapprehension,  yet,  as  the  manner  of 
expression  appears  to  be,  in  some  respects,  tautolo- 
gical, it  may  not  be  amiss,  to  offer  some  remarks  on 
the  separate  clauses. 

As  the  text  now  stands,  when  the  apostle  exhorts 
his  converts  to  add  to  their  faith,  virtue,  and  to  virtue, 
temperance  and  patience,  it  would  seem  to  be  a  loose- 
ness of  expression,  which  we  should  not  expect,  be- 
cause our  definitions  of  virtue  include  the  subsequent 
qualities  of  temperance  and  patience.    In  the  same 


412 


general  English  word,  too,  are  included  brotherly 
kindness  and  charity  ;  and  these  two  last  qualities, 
also,  are  generally  supposed  to  be  nearly  the  same. 
But  there  is  not  this  want  of  discrimination  in  the 
original.  The  word,  rendered  virtue,  here,  accurately 
means,  courage  or  fortitude  ;  temperance,  here,  is  pro- 
perly, self-command  ;  and  brotherly  kindness,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  charity,  means,  here,  the  peculiar  af- 
fection of  the  converts  to  their  christian  brethren,  in 
distinction  from  universal  love,  the  perfection  of  all 
social  virtue. 

The  apostle,  then,  addressing  his  converts,  as  be- 
lievers in  the  gospel,  exhorts  them  to  take  the  most 
earnest  care  to  add  to  their  faith,  or  to  their  simple 
belief  of  the  gospel,  which,  alone,  was  unprofitable, 
courage — a  quality  very  necessary  in  those  days, 
when  an  open  profession  of  Christianity  was  a  dan- 
gerous, but  an  indispensable  duty — and  to  their  cour- 
age, knowledge — for,  at  that  time,  the  miracles  of  the 
apostles  might  produce  a  sudden  and  irresistible  con- 
viction of  the  divine  original  of  the  gospel  in  many, 
who  had  never  heard  of  it  before,  and  who,  there- 
fore, had  very  little  knowledge  of  its  doctrines  and 
duties — and  to  knowledge,  self-command,  or  an  hab- 
itual control  of  the  affections,  passions  and  appetites  ; 
and  to  self-command,  patience  under  afflictions  ;  and 
to  patience,  godliness,  or  piety  ;  and  to  piety,  brother- 
ly kindness,  or  love  of  their  christian  brethren ;  and 
to  love  of  the  brethren,  charity,  or  love  to  all  men,  the 
ultimate  point,  the  perfection  of  all  moral  excellence. 


413 


Tfeis  view  of  the  several  qualities  is,  with  some 
slight  variations,  given  by  most  commentators. 

Thus  we  find  the  text  contains  a  copious  enumera- 
tion of  christian  virtues  in  their  connexion  and  mutual 
dependence.  Perhaps  they  are  not  all  placed  in  the 
precise  order,  in  which  they  commonly  appear,  or  in 
which  they  are  most  successfully  cultivated  ;  but  it  is 
enough  to  remark,  that  the  apostle  intimates  their  mu- 
tual connexion  and  influence,  and  that  he  represents 
faith  and  knowledge  barren  and  unfruitful  without 
them.  This  is  in  perfect  correspondence  with  the 
whole  strain  of  the  New  Testament.  For,  if  these 
things  be  in  you,  and  abound,  if  you  cultivate  these 
dispositions,  they  will  make,  that  ye  shall  be  neither 
barren  nor  unfruitful  in  the  knowledge  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ. 

It  would  occupy  too  much  time,  to  consider  the 
text  in  all  its  parts,  and  to  give  all  the  dispositions 
here  enumerated  a  distinct  consideration,  as  well  as 
to  attend  to  their  succession  and  intimate  connexion. 
This,  indeed,  would  require  several  discourses.  We 
shall,  therefore,  take  the  liberty  to  lay  out  of  our 
present  view  the  personal  graces  of  courage,  temper- 
ance and  patience,  which,  though  unquestionably 
connected  with  the  other  dispositions  enumerated, 
seem  rather  to  form  a  distinct  class,  and  shall  pro- 
ceed, after  defining  the  terms,  to  consider  the  close 
connexion  and  reciprocal  influence  of  knowledge, 
piety  and  charity.  What,  then,  is  the  meaning  of 
these  terms  ? 


414 

It  is  sufficiently  clear,  that  the  knowledge,  which 
the  apostle  recommends,  is  something  beyond  that 
faith,  which  he  had  first  mentioned,  and  which  he 
supposes  his  converts  already  to  possess.  Add  to 
your  faith,  knowledge.  Faith,  therefore,  even  chris- 
tian faith,  does  not  supersede  the  acquisition,  or  di- 
minish the  value  of  knowledge.  Neither  are  we  au- 
thorized to  say,  that  the  faith  of  the  text  includes 
knowledge  in  any  greater  degree,  than  it  includes 
the  other  accomplishments  of  temperance,  patience, 
godliness  or  charity,  which  are,  also,  to  be  added  to 
faith.  If  the  faith  here  mentioned  is  nothing  more, 
than  a  simple  belief  of  the  divine  origin  of  the  gos- 
pel, which  is  extremely  probable,  the  knowledge, 
which  is  to  be  added,  is,  of  course,  such  an  enlarged 
acquaintance  with  religion  or  Christianity,  as  shall 
render  our  faith  intelligent,  and  contribute  to  its  per- 
manence, fruitfulness  and  value. 

The  knowledge,  then,  which  the  apostle  exhorts 
his  converts  to  seek,  is,  the  knowledge  of  religion. 
This  is  to  be  acquired  by  the  exercise  of  our  reason, 
and  especially  by  the  study  of  the  scriptures,  which 
then  were  and  will  always  remain  the  great  repos- 
itory of  facts,  precepts  and  doctrines,  from  which 
the  man  of  Grod  is  to  be  thoroughly  furnished  to 
every  good  word  and  work. 

The  godliness,  which  we  are  required  to  add  to 
our  faith  and  knowledge,  is  not,  here,  the  whole  of 
our  christian  deportment,  which  the  word  sometimes 
expresses,  but  rather  the  principle  of  religious  obe- 


415 


dience,  or  the  sentiment  of  religious  fear,  which  is 
called,  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  If  this,  however, 
should  be  considered  as  too  comprehensive  a  mean- 
ing for  the  word,  in  the  place,  in  which  it  stands,  wc 
may  properly  understand  it  of  the  disposition  to 
piety,  or  those  devout  affections,  of  which  God  is  the 
immediate  object,  which  express  themselves  in  the 
usual  and  edifying  forms  of  private  and  publick  de- 
votion, and  which  diffuse  a  sanctity  and  devotion 
over  the  whole  character  of  the  mind  and  manners. 

By  charity,  here,  we  cannot  fail  to  understand  that 
consummate  grace,  which  is  the  end  of  the  command- 
ment, and  which  is  described  in  the  well-known 
chapter  of  the  first  epistle  to  the  Corinthians.  It 
may,  indeed,  include  the  love  of  God  ;  but  usually 
expresses  the  love  of  mankind.  It  means,  not  mere- 
ly the  common  feelings  of  consanguinity,  or  of  local 
and  occasional  attachments,  but  universal  good  will. 
It  is  a  sentiment  superiour  to  generosity,  superiour  to 
compassion,  and  superiour  to  that  enthusiasm,  which 
often  prompts  to  extraordinary  sacrifices  for  particu- 
lar purposes  ;  a  sentiment,  which  may  exist  between 
men  of  different  opinions,  parties,  tempers  and  inter- 
ests, and  is  not  confined  to  their  temporal  or  pre- 
sent concerns.  It  is  that  love,  which,  as  the  apostle 
says,  is  kind  and  forbearing ;  which  envieth  not ; 
which  is  not  vain  or  proud  ;  which  doth  not  behave 
itself  unseemly,  or  with  indecorum,  but  consults  the 
feelings  of  others  ;  which  seeketh  not  its  own  advan- 
tage ;  is  not  easily  provoked  ;  which  thinketh  no  evil : 


416 

nor  rejoiceth  in  iniquity,  that  is  in  falsehood,  but  re- 
joiceth  in  the  truth,  wherever  discovered  ;  which,  in 
tine,  is  full  of  hope,  full  of  contentment,  full  of  pa- 
tience, and,  like  the  mercy  of  God,  which  endureth 
forever,  survives  our  present  knowledge,  faith  and 
hope  in  those  regions  of  eternal  charity  and  light, 
where  the  great  God  will  be  its  perpetual  exemplar 
and  reward. 

After  these  descriptions,  then,  of  knowledge,  piety 
and  charity,  we  proceed,  according  to  our  plan,  to 
offer  some  remarks  on  their  inseparable  connexion, 
and  reciprocal  influence. 

1.  Our  first  topick,  then,  may  be,  the  influence  of 
knowledge  on  piety  and  charity. 

If  any  one  is  doubtful,  whether  the  diffusion  of 
christian  knowledge  promotes  the  growth  of  piety,  it 
must  be  either,  because  he  has  formed  mistaken  no- 
tions of  piety,  as  independent  of  knowledge  ;  or,  per- 
haps, because  he  believes,  that  religious  knowledge  is 
now  extensively  diffused,  and  yet  that  piety  is  on  the 
decline  ;  or  because  he  has  observed  some  men,  who 
are  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  what  is  called  religious 
studies,  deficient  in  godliness,  or  in  devout  habits  and 
affections.  In  what  follows  these  will  be  the  subject 
of  occasional  remarks. 

There  is  some  reason  to  suspect,  that  many,  even 
in  the  protestant  world,  have  secretly  adopted  the 
degrading  maxim,  that  ignorance  is  the  mother  of  de- 
votion.   It  is,  indeed,  the  mother  of  devotion,  if  by 


417 

devotion  is  meant  a  blind  habit  of  religious  services, 
of  which  the  reason  and  the  object  are  alike  unknown* 
Ignorance  is  the  mother  of  all  that  devotion,  which  is 
paid  to  any  other,  than  the  Supreme  Being.  It  is  the 
mother  of  that  devotion,  which  attaches  itself  to  times, 
places,  garments,  words  and  ceremonies,  and  which 
consecrates  every  thing  but  virtue^  It  is  the  mother 
of  that  devotion,  which  consists  of  a  conceited  and 
self-righteous  homage,  and  commences  with  exclu- 
ding from  God's  complacent  regard  all  but  its  own 
section  of  the  religious  world  ;  of  that  devotion,  which 
deals  in  false  humiliation,  exaggerated  confessions, 
vain  repetitions,  ostentatious  display,  and  unmeaning 
language.  To  all  such  piety  religious  knowledge  is, 
indeed,  fatal. 

But,  if  it  is  of  any  importance  to  this  great  virtue  of 
the  christian  character,  that  we  should  have  the  most 
exalted  and  comprehensive  conceptions  of  the  great 
object  of  worship  ;  if  it  is  of  importance  to  the  obedi- 
ence of  the  will  of  God,  that  we  should  know  what 
God  requires  of  man  in  his  word  ;  if,  in  short,  that 
devotion  may  be  expected  to  be  the  most  free,  filial 
and  happy,  which  is  disburdened  of  those  dishon- 
ourable and  perplexing  notions,  and  those  super- 
stitious fears,  which  have  arisen  in  the  christian 
world  from  misapprehension  of  the  language  of 
scripture,  then  the  diffusion  of  every  degree  of  ration- 
al principles  and  scriptural  knowledge — however  it 
may,  in  some  cases,  produce  a  local  and  temporary  re- 
laxation of  certain  forms  and  feelings,  which  have 
53 


418 


been  accounted  sacred — must  be  ultimately  beneficial 
to  real  piety. 

Nothing  so  much  tends  to  multiply  hypocrites  and 
infidels,  as  the  mysterious  suppression  or  discourage- 
ment of  all  attempts  to  make  religion  intelligible. 
Until  men  are  every  where  exhorted  and  encouraged 
to  extend  their  religious  inquiries,  every  wind  of  false 
doctrine  will  shake,  every  bold  blast  of  infidelity  over- 
throw their  convictions.  Till  they  arc  provided  with 
the  means  of  knowing  the  true  grounds  and  reasons  of 
Christianity,  and  of  becoming  familiar  with  the  best 
interpretations  of  scripture,  a  great  part  of  the  real 
piety  of  the  christian  world  will  be  an  irrational 
and  inexplicable  quality  ;  men  of  great  talents,  and 
eminent  acquisitions  on  other  subjects,  will  fall  or  be 
driven,  from  their  own  ignorance  or  others'  fury,  into 
the  ranks  of  hypocrisy  and  unbelief ;  the  ambitious 
will  avail  themselves  of  our  religious  passions  for  po- 
litical or  interested  purposes  ;  and,  while  we  shall  be 
filled,  even  to  loathing,  with  accounts  from  every  sect 
of  the  prodigious  progress  of  its  own  faith,  igno- 
rance will  sit  brooding"  over  the  land,  w  arming  into 
life  and  mischievous  activity  a  thousand  passions 
miscalled  piety  5  and  a  religion  will  prevail,  of  which 
it  is  one  of  the  characteristick  duties  to  represent  as 
infidel  every  intelligent  and  conscientious  inquirer, 
w  ho  does  not  take  the  draught,  as  it  is  offered  him, 
or  who  does  not  fill  his  cup  at  some  one  of  the  foun- 
tains, which  party  has  consecrated.  Indeed,  it  may 
be  set  down  as  a  maxim,  that  all  the  advantages, 


H9 


which  may,  at  any  time,  appear  to  be  gained  by  mak- 
ing religion  a  passion,  and  faith  an  unenlightened 
principle,  are  completely  counterbalanced  by  the  inev- 
itable increase  of  hypocrisy,  infidelity,  and  bigotry, 
with  which  such  a  state  of  things  is  attended. 

The  effect  of  knowledge  in  diffusing  charity  is  not 
less  conspicuous,  than  its  influence  on  piety.  If  we 
take  charity  in  its  common  acceptation,  we  shall  find, 
that  an  enlarged  and  cultivated  mind  often  dispo- 
ses men  to  acts  of  generosity.  It  extends  the  sphere 
of  kind  observation,  and  divests  us  of  that  sordidness 
and  prejudice,  which  so  often  restrain  the  exercise  of 
bounty,  and  directs  us  to  proper  objects  of  our  good 
will  and  exertion.  But  it  is  in  the  promotion  of  char- 
ity, in  opposition  to  what  is  called,  uncharitableness, 
that  religious  knowledge  is  most  eminently  successful. 
Not  that  the  most  learned  men  have  been  uniformly 
the  most  catholick.  There  is  often  a  pride  of  opinion 
among  the  learned,  which  learning  alone  will  not 
cure.  There  is,  also,  a  love  of  dominion  in  vigorous 
minds,  which  makes  a  bad  use  of  the  maxim,  that 
knowledge  is  power.  But,  if  we  would  hope  ever 
to  correct  that  denouncing  and  dogmatizing  spirit, 
which  has  been  so  disgracefully  common  in  the  chris- 
tian world,  it  is  only  to  be  effected  by  giving  men 
some  conception  of  the  difficulties,  w  hich  attend  the 
discovery  of  truth.  He,  who,  deriving  his  faith  from 
the  unexamined  authority  of  numbers,  has  never  felt 
these  difficulties,  or,  being  persuaded  of  some  private 
operations  or  influences,  of  which  he  thinkis  himself 


420 


the  favoured  subject,  cannot  be  made  to  feel  theni, 
must  be  expected  either  to  pity  or  despise  those,  who 
do  not  admit  these  compendious  ways  of  arriving  at 
truth.  If  he  is  a  good  man,  he  will  be  tempted  to 
pity  those,  who  have  not  ceased  to  doubt ;  if  he  is  a 
proud  man,  he  will  triumph  in  his  own  fancied  superi- 
ority ;  if  he  is  a  weak  man,  he  will  suspect,  avoid,  or 
calumniate  those,  who  are  not  so  well  established  as 
himself  in  every  article  of  faith.  He,  alone,  cannot 
easily  condemn  others,  whom  it  has  cost  much  pains, 
and  time,  and  prayers,  to  form  his  own  opinions.  Re- 
ligious knowledge  reveals  to  us  this  most  important 
fact,  which  alone  can  cure  our  religious  vanity,  and 
consequent  uncharitableness- — the  fact,  that  there  is 
not  a  single  communion  in  Christendom  without  its 
wise  men  and  its  saints  ;  neither  is  there  a  question 
among  those,  which  have  been  most  fiercely  disputed 
in  the  christian  world,  which  is  not  maintained  and 
rejected  by  men  of  piety  and  intellectual  endowments 
apparently  equal.  He,  therefore,  who  undertakes  to 
pronounce,  in  an  unqualified  manner,  on  the  indispen- 
sable connexion  of  any  mere  opinion  in  theology  with 
holiness  here,  or  happiness  hereafter,  can  only  be  cured 
by  enlarging  his  sphere  of  inquiry,  by  being  taught  to 
feel  the  real  difficulties,  which  attend  on  many  of  those 
articles  of  popular  faith,  which  are  often  most  confi. 
dently  maintained,  when  they  are  least  understood. 

2.  We  proceed  now  to  consider  the  influence  of 
piety  on  knowledge  and  charity. 


421 

It  was  the  uniform  doctrine  of  our  Saviour,  that 
nothing  so  effectually  promotes  faith  here,  as  a  pious 
disposition  ;  or  unbelief,  as  a  wicked  or  hypocritical 
mind.  It  is  almost  superfluous  to  observe,  that  these 
remarks  of  our  Saviour  on  belief  and  unbelief  may 
be  applied  to  religious  knowledge  and  ignorance.  If 
any  man  will  do  my  will,  says  our  Saviour,  he  shall 
know  of  my  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God.  This 
sentiment  is  thus  expressed  in  other  places  :  No  man 
can  come  unto  me,  except  the  father,  who  has  sent 
me,  draw  him  ;  that  is,  unless  he  is  induced  to  it  by 
regard  to  God,  or  a  principle  of  religious  obedience. 
The  wise,  that  is,  the  pious,  shall  understand,  but 
none  of  the  wicked  shall  understand. 

This  connexion,  between  religious  knowledge  and 
sentiments  of  piety,  is  entirely  natural  and  intelligi- 
ble. The  fear  of  God  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 
That  man  only  will  preserve  a  mind  open  to  convic- 
tion, and  faithfully  use  every  assistance  within  his 
reach  for  the  discovery  of  truth,  who  lives  under  the 
habitual  conviction,  that  he  must  give  an  account  of 
himself,  in  this  respect,  to  God.  To  such  an  one 
wisdom  is  the  principal  thing.  The  merchandize  of 
it  is  better  than  the  merchandize  of  silver,  and  the 
gain  thereof,  than  fine  gold.  She  is  more  precious 
than  rubies ;  and  all  things,  we  can  desire,  are  not  to 
be  compared  to  her.  He,  who  has  a  deep  and  unaf- 
fected sense  of  the  greatness  and  goodness  of  God, 
will  receive  with  joy  every  new  ray  of  divine  truth  ; 
he  will  feel  the  impiety,  as  well  as  the  uncharitable- 


422 

ness,  of  closing  the  sources  of  religious  inquiry  ;  and 
feel  the  sacredness  of  that  obligation,  which  lies  on 
every  man  to  form,  without  prejudice  or  interested 
motives,  his  religious  opinions.  He  will  rejoice  in  the 
extension  of  a  spirit  of  research,  confident  that,  under 
the  government  of  God,  the  progress  of  inquiry  will 
be  the  progress  of  truth,  and  that  truth  cannot  be  ul- 
timately unfavourable  to  virtue. 

By  this  I  do  not  mean,  that  piety  alone  will  fur- 
nish us  with  an  extensive  knowledge  of  this  religion ; 
and  much  less,  that  he,  who  only  prays  over  the  scrip- 
tures, will  thoroughly  understand  them,  without  the 
use  of  the  requisite  helps.  But  it  is  with  the  scrip^ 
tures,  as  with  every  other  book,  he  will  best  under- 
stand, who  is  most  capable  of  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  the  author ;  and  if  any  one  good  affection  rather 
than  another  may  be  said  to  predominate  in  the  books 
of  scripture,  it  is  the  spirit  of  piety.  They  are  dis- 
tinguished from  all  other  writings  by  this  character, 
that  they  are  a  history  of  the  dispensations  of  God. 
He  is  the  great  object  every  where  presented  to  our 
view.  Every  other  agent,  w7ho  appears  in  the  scene, 
is  subordinate  ;  and  the  eternal  relations  of  man  to 
God  and  to  the  life  to  come,  are  the  topicks,  on  which 
every  thing  in  scripture  has  an  immediate  bearing. 

The  influence  of  piety  on  the  progress  of  charity, 
also,  is  great  and  important.  It  is  true,  the  two  sen- 
timents may  exist  with  different  degrees  of  intensity 
in  different  minds  ;  and  some  persons,  from  observing 
a  mistaken  zeal  in  many  good  men  for  the  glory  of 


423 


God,  and  from  hearing  acts  of  devotion  too  often 
made  the  vehicle  of  uncharitable  feelings,  have  been 
led  to  think  these  two  qualities  separable  at  least,  if 
not  sometimes  irreconcilable.    But  far  from  us  be  the 
attempt,  to  put  asunder  what  God  hath  joined  togeth- 
er.   Let  us  leave  it  to  saints,  who  lived  under  a  less 
generous  dispensation  of  religion,  to  mingle  impreca- 
tions with  the  accents  of  contrition.  It  is  the  uniform 
language  of  our  Saviour  and  his  apostles,  that  every 
christian  must  present  to  God  his  petitions  for  pardon, 
in  peace  with  all  men,  and  with  wishes  of  salvation  for 
all.  I  should  think  it  entirely  superfluous,  to  multiply 
proofs  of  the  inseparable  connexion,  every  where 
held  out  in  the  christian  scriptures,  betwreen  charity, 
in  all  its  forms,  and  the  love  of  God,  which  is  the 
sum  of  godliness.    With  regard  to  beneficence,  that 
great  branch  of  charity,  let  this  passage  suffice  :  But 
whoso  hath  this  world's  goods,  and  seeth  his  brother 
have  need,  and  shutteth  up  his  bowels  of  compassion 
from  him,  how  dwelleth  the  love  of  God  in  him  ? 

It  is  not  easy  to  conceive,  how  any  man  address- 
ing God,  the  common  father  of  all  mankind,  and  con- 
sidering, how  little  is  known  of  God,  except  that  he 
is  our  gracious  parent,  can  bring  to  his  prayers  any 
other,  than  a  heart  of  charity.  But  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens, that  we  worship  God,  as  altogether  such  an  one 
as  ourselves.  We  make  him  a  party  to  our  own  pre- 
judices. We  clothe  him  with  ouv  own  passions. 
We  set  up  an  idol,  who  smiles  or  frow  ns  according 
to  our  wishes.    Instead  of  imitating  the  almighty  and 


impartial  father  of  all  mankind,  we  make  a  God,  who 
imitates  ourselves.  Thus,  every  odious  quality  of  the 
human  mind  becomes  associated  with  our  religion. 
Our  devotions  become  the  nutriment  of  our  passions  ; 
our  habits  of  communion  with  God  are  become  hab- 
its of  excommunication  of  others.  If  we  attend  to 
God's  providences,  we  interpret  them  all  according  to 
our  own  uncharitable  principles  ;  and  the  tower  of 
Siloam  always  falls,  where  we  had  expected  the  blow. 
If  we  discern  his  footsteps,  it  is  only  in  the  narrow 
path,  which  our  vain  imaginations  have  marked  out 
for  him ;  and  his  cause  is  identified  with  the  ebulli- 
tions of  our  own  vanity  and  spleen.  Now,  when 
piety  is  thus  degraded,  as  it  sometimes  is,  every  in- 
crease of  piety  is  only  an  increase  of  ill- will ;  we  shut 
up  our  bowels  of  compassion  against  those,  whom,  we 
think,  God  has  shut  out  of  his  covenant,  and  engage  in 
holy  warfare — against  what  ? — not  against  our  own 
vanity,  presumption,  obstinacy  and  malignity,  or  the 
sins,  which  most  easily  beset  us,  but  against  the  ene- 
mies of  the  true  faith.  These  we  call  to  choose — not 
between  the  crucifix  and  the  fire,  for  these  are  now  out 
of  repute — but  between  our  creed  and  our  anathema. 
Melancholy,  indeed,  that  this  spirit,  which  once  pre- 
vailed all  over  Christendom,  is  sometimes  still  called 
piety,  even  in  the  protestant  world  ! 

It  is  when  such  principles  and  feelings  usurp  the 
place  of  genuine  love  to  God,  that  piety  becomes  the 
most  dangerous  of  the  weapons,  which  ambition  may 
use  to  disturb  the  peace  of  the  church,  and  of  the 


425 

world.  How  important,  then,  the  union  of  piety  and 
charity  !  This  would  defeat  the  cry  of  the  bigot,  and 
the  sneer  of  the  indifferent*  Until  this  union  is  effect- 
ed, the  seamless  coat  of  Christ  will  continue  to  be  torn 
in  ten  thousand  pieces  by  aspiring  partizans  and  nar- 
row-minded bigots,  while  the  exulting  infidel  and 
profligate  cast  their  reproaches  on  the  exposed  and 
dishonoured  religion  of  our  blessed  Lord. 

3.  The  time,  which  remains,  will  not  allow  us  to  be 
very  copious  on  the  third  topick  of  discourse— to  which, 
indeed,  we  have  already  occasionally  adverted — the 
influence  of  charity  on  knowledge  and  piety. 

Alas  !  the  experiment  has  never  yet  been  made  up- 
on a  broad  scale  in  the  christian  world.  Among 
those  great  men,  who  have  shone  as  lights  in  the 
world,  and  whose  light  has  reached  our  own  times, 
there  are,  indeed,  a  few,  who  give  us  an  illustrious 
specimen  of  the  rare  and  godlike  union  of  knowledge, 
piety  and  love.  I  could  enumerate  some  memorable 
names  ;  but  it  has  been  the  hard  fate  of  many  of  them 
to  be  persecuted,  and  of  others  to  be  suspected,  when 
alive,  and  to  receive  a  kind  of  hollow  admiration  and 
a  doubtful  prliise  in  later  ages,  especially  from  those 
who  know  thmi  only  by  their  reputation  for  Catholi- 
cism. Yet  their  reputation  will  stand  unshaken 
through  the  hottest  and  most  malignant  seasons  of  the 
church,  and  afford  a  coul  shelter  for  the  quiet  chris- 
tian, like  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  vyeary  laud. 

If  we  may  ever  expect  religious  knowledge  gener- 
ally to  prevail,  it  will  be  only  when  the  geuiie  voice 
54* 


426 


of  charity  is  heard  throughout  Christendom  encour- 
aging men  to  follow  the  lights,  which  are  held  out  to 
them,  without  apprehension  of  reproach  from  "  hard 
unkindness?  altered  eye"  on  every  change  of  opinion. 
When  a  spirit  of  true  christian  liberality  shall  pre- 
vail, a  spirit,  not  of  latitudinarian  apathy,  but  of  aetive 
benevolence,  we  shall  be  provided  with  the  most  am- 
ple means  for  thorough  and  unbiassed  inquiry,  and 
men  will  be  invited,  not  only  to  read  for  themselves, 
but  to  form  their  conclusions  for  themselves  with  a 
manliness  becoming  intelligent  creatures,  who  ac- 
count it  a  light  thing  to  be  judged  of  man's  judg- 
ment, for  he  that  judgeth  them  is  the  Lord.  When 
charity  and  zeal  shall  unite,  truth  will  spring  out  of 
the  eartb.;  and  righteousness  look  down  from  heaven  : 
and  Christendom  be  like  a  well-watered  garden,  whose 
beauty  and  fertility  appear  together.  Thy  kingdom 
come,  should  be  our  prayer  continually. 

Do  you  ask,  how  charity  will  promote  knowledge  ? 
It  will  do  it  by  divesting  us  of  those  miserable  preju- 
dices, which  lead  us  to  take  offence  against  a  writer 
from  his  subject,  his  manner,  or  his  sectarian  name. 
It  will  promote  knowledge  by  teaching  men,  that  the 
differences  in  the  christian  world,  where  they  are  not 
allowed  to  produce  alienation  of  affection,  will  infal- 
libly produce  good,  by  exciting  attention,  caution,  in- 
quiry, and,  of  course,  truth.  It  will  promote  knowl- 
edge by  removing  that  undue  bias,  which  will  always 
exist,  where  there  is  a  fear  of  the  results,  to  which  our 
studies  may  lead  us.    Charity  expands  the  mind, 


427 


and  prepares  it  to  receive  truth,  from  whatever  quar- 
ter it  may  be  presented.  Charity  is  the  genial 
warmth  of  a  good  heart,  not  unlike  that  of  the  spring, 
which  first  opens  and  loosens  the  soil,  allows  the 
seeds,  which  are  scattered  on  the  surface,  to  find  a 
place,  and  encourages  those  to  spring  up,  which  have 
been  long  struggling  in  vain  for  the  light  ;  prejudice  is 
a  rock,  which  refuses  all  hold,  but  to  the  short  and  bar- 
ren mosses,  with  which  it  has  been  for  ages  covered, 
and  which  time  only  hardens  and  embrowns. 

It  is  true,  there  is  hardly  a  sect  in  Christendom,  which 
has  not  sometimes  been  uncharitable  ;  and  it  is  easy  to 
see,  that  there  is  sometimes  a  bitter  party  arrayed 
against  intolerance  and  bigotry.  Indeed,  the  highest 
exercise  of  charity  is,  charity  toward  the  uncharitable. 
But,  whatever  be  the  communion,  in  which  it  is  found, 
nothing  is  so  unfriendly  to  knowledge,  as  a  narrow,  ex- 
clusive, and  censorious  temper.  This  discovers  itself, 
sometimes  in  a  weak  dread  of  novelty,  sometimes  in  a 
petulant  contempt  of  antiquity.  It  now  puts  in  a  cau- 
tion against  the  character  of  an  opponent,  and  now  fas- 
tens on  his  doctrines  consequences,  which  he  rejects. 
It  sometimes  opposes  ridicule  to  argument,  feeling  to 
fact,  and  names  to  reasons  ;  and  answers  your  state- 
ments by  an  appeal  to  its  own  personal  experience, 
which  can  never  be  a  reason  to  another,  who  has  not 
the  same  internal  sensation.  The  essence  of  this 
spirit  is  the  same  all  over  the  world ;  and  effectually 
bars  the  mind  against  the  access  of  truth.  When  any 
sect  makes  its  last  appeal  to  authority,  or  to  its  own 


428 


peculiar  sensations,  as  a  standard  of  truth,  there  is  an 
end  of  religious  inquiry.  The  niahometan  is  then 
able  to  bring  the  same  reason  for  his  belief  in  the  ko- 
ran,  the  papist  for  the  traditions  of.  his  church,  the 
quaker  for  his  silent  illuminations,  and  all  sects,  with- 
out distinction,  for  their  own  most  diverse  and  contra- 
dictory formularies. 

If  any  one  imagines,  that,  what  we  have  described 
as  charily,  is,  in  fact,  indifference  to  truth,  let  such  an 
one  know,  that  their  nature  and  tendency  are  alto- 
gether unlike.  Indifference  is  always  content  with 
the  degree  of  knowledge,  which  already  exists  ;  and 
is  willing,  that  men  should  be  ignorant  on  the  most 
eolemn  and  interesting  subjects.  Indifference  is  in- 
dolent, contemptuous  and  conceited  ;  charity  is  an 
active  temper,  which,  for  its  own  sake,  and  that  of 
others,  encourages  every  provision  for  the  progress  of 
knowledge,  sensible  that  the  love  of  truth  is  one  of 
the  noblest  principles  of  human  virtue.  Indifference 
thinks  the  study  of  religion  unworthy  of  a  thought ; 
but  charity  is  always  employed  in  finding  those  truths, 
in  which  the  greatest  number  can  agree,  and  the  bet- 
ter they  are  established,  the  better  is  charity  pro- 
moted. 

From  what  has  already  been  said,  I  deem  it  unne^ 
eessary  to  enlarge  on  the  last  branch  of  our  subject, 
the  connexion  between  piety  and  charity.  The  union 
of  these  qualities,  however  it  may  now  be  suspected 
tt>  be  doubtful  or  difficult,  will  be  found  practicable, 
hi  least  in  that  world,  and  in  that  vast  assembly, 


429 


which  no  man  can  number,  of  all  nations,  and  kind- 
reel,  and  people,  and  tongues,  who  shall  stand  before 
the  throne  and  before  the  Lamb,  clothed  with  robes, 
and  with  palms  in  their  hands,  crying  with  a  loud 
voice,  salvation  to  our  God,  which  sitteth  upon  the 
throne,  and  to  the  Lamb  ! 

And,  would  we  form  on  earth  a  congregation  on 
the  model  of  this,  which  the  author  of  the  book  of 
Revelations  saw  in  vision,  we  must  come  to  God  be- 
lieving, that  he  is  a  re  warder  of  them,  that  diligently 
seek  him,  and  believing,  also,  that,  with  this  faith  and 
this  diligence,  it  is  not  impossible  for  any  man  to 
please  him.  We  must  have  the  charity  to  banish 
from  our  devotions  every  thing,  which  does  not  pro- 
perly belong  to  this  holy  and  charitable  employment. 
We  must  consent  to  make  our  prayers,  not  tests  of 
doctrine,  but  expressions  of  love.  We  must  beware 
of  awakening  passions  by  our  religious  services, 
which  are  unfriendly  to  christian  fellowship.  Espe- 
cially must  we  beware  of  making  God  a  party  to  our 
own  feelings,  and  of  converting  acts  of  christian 
communion  and  worship  into  a  confederation — if  the 
word  may  be  pardoned — for  purposes  of  private  in- 
fluence and  religious  domination.  Piety,  then,  will 
most  assuredly  flourish,  when  we  make  our  worship 
and  our  ordinances  the  means,  and  not  the  end  of  re- 
ligion, and  when  that  end  is  well  understood  to  be 
love,  out  of  a  pure  heart,  a  good  conscience,  and 
faith  unfeigned. 


430 

To  conclude,  my  christian  brethren,  are  we  among 
those,  who  seek  after  knowledge,  and  lift  up  our 
voices  for  understanding  ?  Have  we  made  religion  an 
object  of  as  much  inquiry  and  attention,  as  its  lofty 
claims  and  eternal  importance  demand  ?  Is  our  char- 
ity the  cloak  of  ignorance  and  indifference,  or  a  gen- 
uine principle  of  philanthropy  uniting,  with  tender- 
ness and  indulgence  towards  others,  a  sincere  desire 
of  their  improvement  ?  And  are  we  careful  to  perfect 
and  consecrate  our  love  of  truth  and  our  charity  by 
an  inward  and  practical  piety  ?  My  friends,  we  have 
much  to  do  to  wipe  off  the  reproaches,  which  are  con- 
tinually cast  upon  one  or  the  other  of  these  blessed 
qualities ;  and  we  can  do  it  only  by  uniting  them  in 
our  own  characters.  It  is  the  constant  object  of  my 
wishes  and  prayers,  and  may  it  be  the  effect  of  my 
preaching,  under  the  blessing  of  God,  to  contribute 
to  the  formation  of  that  noblest  of  all  characters,  the 
christian,  whose  love,  as  the  apostle  describes  it, 
abounds  more  and  more  in  knowledge,  and  in  all 
judgment,  who  approves  the  things,  which  are  excel- 
lent, and  who  remains  sincere  and  without  offence, 
till  the  day  pf  Christ,  being  filled  with  the  fruits  of 
righteousness,  which  are  by  Jesus  Christ,  unto  the 
glory  and  praise  of  God. 


THE  END. 


